


Time Doesn't Fit In My Bottle (But Maybe A Piece Of You Will)

by Catching_Spark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, Evil Dumbledore, Immortal Harry, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Non Consensual touching, Slash, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catching_Spark/pseuds/Catching_Spark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Reaper, his hallows, and apocalypses, oh my! The end of the wizarding world is nigh! …Or is it? Harry Potter may be the world’s only savior yet again! In a desperate struggle to save his godson, Harry fights an uphill battle to reclaim Teddy’s body and soul. Travelling through time, defeating old Dark Lords, meeting a young Tom Riddle, and stopping magical extinction wasn’t part of the plan, but Harry’s rolling with the punches. He’ll do anything to save the son he failed, even if that means hanging with mini Voldemort along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Derailed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been awhile huh? Sorry about that, I decided to buff up and revamp the story a little more. Noticed some things that could be changed/added and so I've been tweaking things again. Mainly some fleshing out and sentence restructuring –been adding dates so it's easier for you guys to keep track of who's when where since for awhile here the story is changing the date pretty frequently, -which will slow as we progress of course, but any-who, there are also some pretty big surprises in here so be sure to read each chapter over if you don't want to be confused- hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> I promise this will be the last time I shift things this much- not gonna lie, I love to tweak and perfect my work so sometimes if you look hard enough you might notice something, but nothing as big as these alterations will be happening again unless you guys have a request or an idea that I think would sit nicely in one of these chapters! Otherwise this is it for the first three chapters at least- the fourth one will hopefully be perfected soon too!

**_It begins around what should have been the end. The part in a story where you would hope to see everyone get a happily ever after should be right about here, -but it’s not. That’s a different story, and this isn’t an ending._ **

**_It’s just the beginning…_ **

 

* * *

  ** _May 2, 1998_ **

* * *

 

After everything he’s been through, Harry doesn’t know why he’s so shocked to realize that he’s reached the end of the line. His entire life has been nothing but an uphill battle, and he’s always known that his odds of surviving through the war were abysmal at best.

Perhaps it’s because he’s disappointed that after everything, his existence is going to end, not with a bang, but with barely even a whimper. He’s fought so hard to survive, but today he must go willingly to his grave as everyone’s lives depend on it. There are no alternatives, and no phoenixes have appeared to save him. His unique brand of luck seems to have finally run out, and the only way to truly destroy Voldemort is for him to die as well.

If he doesn’t do this, then everything he’s fought for will have been for naught. He’s actually relieved that he’d discovered the piece of Voldemort’s soul within him before it was too late. The idea of the Dark Lord wearing his skin to parade around in on raids is horrifying. He refuses to let himself be the reason the war is lost. If his death is the price of success then so be it.

As Harry walks further within the woods, Voldemort’s booming voice interrupts his internal musings, alerting him that he’s close. Choking back the natural fear that urges him to leave before it’s too late, he steps into the clearing before Voldemort, resigned to his death. Suspicious red eyes gaze at him, obviously wondering why Harry is making this so easy, but Voldemort doesn’t hesitate for long.

As the green light of an Avada Kedavra draws closer, Harry opens his arms and welcomes death like an old friend.

 

* * *

 

Harry has no idea how much time has passed when he opens his eyes to find himself lying on the floor in an unfamiliar, glaringly white setting.

Confused, Harry struggles to his feet to get a better view of his surroundings. Turning his head to the side, he notices something moving in his peripherals. Curiously, he walks towards the solitary bench in what appears to be an endless train station. Drawing up next to the seat, he crouches down for a closer look.

Emaciated bloody hands snap towards him, causing him to rear back. _‘What the hell is under there?!’_ Harry wonders nervously as haunting wails begin emanating from the creature.

 ** _"You can't help him Harry…"_** An eerie voice rasps. Whirling around, Harry comes face to face with what can only be described as Death. He isn't afraid; after all he’s already dead. He has no reason to fear it. Death’s facial bones shift into a distorted grin, as if it can hear his thoughts. **_"You brave, brave boy… You WONDERFUL boy… Come walk with me,"_** It croaks, motioning Harry forward.

Warily, Harry moves towards the dark specter, which turns to begin drifting at his side.

Pointing back at the deformed shape weeping underneath the bench, Harry asks, "What _is_ that thing?"

 ** _"A part of Voldemort, sent here to die,"_** Death responds, gliding along.

"So there really is a piece of him inside me," Harry frets, rubbing at his scar.

Death shakes its veiled head, then replies _, **"Not anymore. It was destroyed moments ago by Voldemort himself."**_ Empty eye sockets bore into Harry _, **"You were the horcrux he never meant to make."**_

Harry ponders the revelation that he’s finally free of Voldemort, but then realizes, "I have to go back, haven't I?"

 ** _"That's up to you,"_** Death replies, with a toothy grin. **_"We're at a train station, yes?”_** It casually points out _, **“So you have a choice to make. If you stay here, you will never be allowed to pass on. However, if you so desire, you'll be able to board a train today… But ONLY today."**_

Harry looks down the neverending tracks longingly, "Where would it take me?"

 ** _"…On,"_** Death answers simply, staring intently at Harry’s unaware back as if wary of his Master’s choice. The serious moment is interrupted by a louder wail from the shriveled up piece of Voldemort. Harry glances back, feeling sorry for it, and also strangely drawn to it. Before Harry can decide whether he dares to approach the wretched creature or not, Death hisses _, **"Unless you want that soul to latch onto you again, I suggest you avoid touching it."**_

Harry sighs, exasperated, "Is this even real or is all of this just happening inside my head?" _‘Apparently, I can't escape my problems even when I’m dead,’_ Harry mulls.

Death cackles _, **"Of COURSE it's all happening inside your head! But why should that make this any less real?"**_ Harry has no answer for it, but he knows what he has to do. Reluctantly he sits on the bench, and watches sadly as the only train he'll ever see passes on without him.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Death grins victoriously down at him.

“What now?” Harry wonders aloud, not sure what will happen to him. He has no idea how this not-quite-dead stuff works after all.

 ** _"Now it is time for us to part ways… I shall see you again at the next crossroad my brave little Master,"_** Death murmurs almost fondly, bowing before Harry who is taken aback at the motion.

Before he can ask what Death means, the whitewashed world blinks out of existence.

 

* * *

 

When Harry comes to, he almost opens his eyes before realizing that he’s back in the forbidden forest, surrounded by Death Eaters. Trying not to tense, he focuses on lying as still as possible across the cold hard earth. Just as he starts panicking over how he’s going to escape this situation unscathed, Mrs. Malfoy leans in to take his pulse. As she gently places her fingers to his throat and Harry tenses to attack, Narcissa quietly demands to know, "Is my son alive?"

Carefully -hoping no one else can see him- Harry signals Draco's safety with a slight incline of his head. He doesn’t know what to expect, but is relieved when in return for his help, Narcissa lies, confirming the Dark Lord's victory. Cheers ring out, and a wailing Hagrid is then forced to carry his 'corpse' back to the school, which is a relief, because it means that no one besides Mrs. Malfoy realizes that he is alive. Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Voldemort starts bragging about his victory, and many people begin to give up hope- which is of course when Harry leaps to his feet and begins firing upon the Death Eaters.

With renewed faith, everyone rushes into battle after Harry. The fight that ensues is long and arduous. It is in no way an easy victory, but thanks to Voldemort using a wand that will never obey a false Master, Harry defeats him with a powerful expelliarmus. As the Dark Lord scatters like dust on the wind, Harry catches the Elder Wand with a shaking hand. For the first time in his life, he feels free.

 _‘And powerful…’_ Harry thinks as he glances down at the legendary wand he now possesses. Gingerly gripping it in his hands, the world around him seems to slow as he considers what he should do with it. The right thing would probably be to destroy it, to break it in half over his knee and let that be the end of it. At the least he should just put it back with Dumbledore to be forgotten in time.

 _‘On the other hand there are still death eaters out there that need to be stopped… I should at least hold onto it until they’re taken care of,’_ Harry decides, blissfully unaware that this line of thought would lead to a future of caving in to the tempting power. For the Elder Wand has a will of its own, and it wasn’t about to let itself be tossed aside after it had spent centuries carving a bloody path to reach the frail but oh so perfect hands caressing it.

As Harry slips the wand within his pocket, time returns to normal just as the cheering crowd reaches him.

A victory celebration to outshine all others kicks off, everyone making merry and toasting to lost friends even as they make new ones. Harry is introduced to hundreds of new people, all wanting to congratulate him -but he can’t find the one person he truly wants to see.

When he’d accepted death, Harry had also accepted that he’d never see his friends or beloved again, and yet here he was. Alive again with a future full of infinite possibilities that he never dared dream he could have. The only future he desires now is one that he can share with Ginny.

He wants what he refused to let himself ponder when he knew death was on the horizon. A life where brown eyes gaze at him with infinite warmth, and red hair tempts him ever higher as they fly across open skies together. He can picture now, how their happy ever after will play out and it fills his heart with eager joy. Ginny will become a professional Quidditch player of course, Harry attending every match to cheer her on.

He’ll work as an Auror, doing what he does best and chasing down rogue Death Eaters when he’s not pouring his heart and soul out to his future lover. If Ginny allows it, they’ll have many children -little ones with their mother’s hair and his eyes, and he’ll treasure them all. It’s a beautiful vision, but Harry is getting ahead of himself. He needs to start with a proposal and if all goes well the rest will follow.

The problem is that he can’t seem to find Ginny. She’s been missing for hours, and no one seems to know where she is. He’s slowly heading from worry into panic, when a Slytherin student casually informs him of where he can find her. Normally Harry would have been suspicious of the older boy’s slick smile, but he’s too relieved over the news that someone, anyone, has seen her. Thanking the student, he eagerly races to Gryffindor tower.

He’s rushing up the rubble-ridden stairs, trying to figure out how he’s going to propose to her, when he smells an acrid smoky aroma. Idly, he wonders if someone has the common room fire going, as he states the password to get in. The portrait swings open and the smoke that billows out momentarily blinds him. Blinking through watery eyes, Harry rushes into the room, now worried, and freezes. Lying on the rug before the common room fire is a human heart.

Pulse pounding in his ears, he looks into the fire and sees Ginny’s burning, bubbling head staring sightlessly up at him through the flames. As Harry stares uncomprehendingly into her face, frozen in an expression of true terror, a distant part of him notes that the position is similar to the way Sirius once had fire-called him. But Sirius face had looked nothing like his poor sweet Ginny’s did now.

“No… No, no, no… Ginny!” Harry chokes softly, as he collapses to his knees. “Please no…” he weeps, casting an overpowered aguamenti to stop the flames. It only makes the mess at his feet worse as water floods the room, sending her remains swirling and swaying across the floor, bits of her floating about his kneeling form. Horrified he scrambles to hold onto what’s left of her, and gets a pulpy handful of steaming ash and red hair. Bile rising in his throat it dawns on him that the acrid smell filling the hall had been the rest of Ginnys flesh roasting in the pyre.

Retching even as he struggles not to further contaminate his love’s remains, he drops his sticky handful back into the disgusting ashy red mix soaking into his pants and begins wailing with unrestrained grief. He doesn’t understand why this has happened.

‘ _WhywhywhywhymyGinnynotmyGinny!!_ ’ plays through his mind on repeat, all his hopes and dreams melting around him like what’s left of his would have been lover.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, howling out his despair amongst the soggy grey remains of her silky red hair, but eventually someone starts shrieking nearby, gathering a horrified crowd.

“Who did this?!” Ron roars through his own tears, eyes locked onto Ginny’s half melted face floating amongst the soupy muck Harry had made of her. Yanking a near comatose Harry to his feet, a pale green Ron shakes him, demanding to know, “Who. Did. This?!”

“Stop it Ron! Can’t you see he’s hurting too?!” Hermione shouts, disgustedly forcing herself through liquefied remains to tug Harry away from Ron’s unforgiving grip.

Blinking through burning tears, Harry remembers the Slytherin who had been oh so helpful earlier, and feels a rage like molten lava erupt within his gutted chest cavity. Staggering through blood and wet ash, Harry sloshes out of the portrait hole, leaving a trail of tainted water, swiftly followed by Ron. Hermione might have joined them had Mrs. Weasley not arrived and collapsed into hysterical sobbing. Like Harry, she would never truly recover from this.

Storming down the stairs with Ron, who can sense his murderous intent, Harry rips open the marauders map, that he’d foolishly forgotten to check earlier, and begins the hunt for Marcus Flint.

The inbred imbecile is hiding in the dungeons. Stalking down halls and staircases, Harry turns and weaves until he comes to Snape’s old classroom. Pausing at the threshold, Harry takes a moment to consider just what he’d like to do to the piece of shite hiding behind the doors, but Ron doesn’t pause for any such considerations, and slams right on inside.

“Avada Kedavra!” Ron howls, hitting Flint directly in the chest. The light instantly fades from Flint’s shocked eyes as he collapses to the floor.

“What have you done?!” Harry snarls, viciously slamming a startled Ron against the wall, practically spitting as he hisses, “He deserved worse than that! So much worse, but you… you gave him a painless death?! You think that’s what he gave Ginny?! That monster probably carved her up alive and then threw her remains in the fire! He deserved to suffer!!”

“I- I just thought-,” Ron starts, looking ashamed.

“ _NO_!!” Harry snarls, shoving Ron again, hoping he’s hurting him, “No, you didn’t think! You didn’t think because you never think about anyone but yourself! This wasn’t about you though! This was about making the bastard who murdered the woman I loved -your sister, pay for what he did! You’ve just _ruined_ the only chance we ever had to properly avenge her!”

Releasing a pale, shaken Ron, Harry heads towards the door, wanting nothing more than to hide away for the rest of his miserable life. Without Ginny how could it be anything but? He feels like his heart’s been burned out of him. The pain and rage roiling inside his gut with no outlet is unbearable. He might have won the war today, but everything he’d barely begun hoping to gain from it has been lost. Even his chance for vengeance was cruelly snatched from him by his careless ex-friend.

“Harry! I’m sorry! Please, I didn’t mean to- I was just so angry!” Ron cries, desperately gripping his shoulder to prevent him from leaving.

“Sorry isn’t good enough this time,” Harry spits tersely, jerking out of Ron’s desperate grasp and trudging away.

****

* * *

  ** _May 9, 1998_ **

* * *

 

‘How did it come to this?’ Harry muses listlessly. Eyes red and dulled by the wine he’d drank in excess, he stares despondently into the water stains on the ceiling. A week after the battle, and he hasn’t moved from Sirius’ filthy old bed save to grab another bottle in a neverending struggle to drink away the pain that is his life.

‘It should have been me. I was ready to die,’ he thinks wearily, hand reaching out to feel through the bottles around him for one that isn’t as empty on the inside as he feels right now. His sluggish movements send a few rolling off to shatter on the floor, making his head throb, tears sliding anew down his cheeks to further sully the bed.

A soft pop further disturbs his mourning.

Seeming reluctant to bother Harry as he grieves, Kreacher ambles over, an envelope clutched in his dirty hands and grumbles quietly, “Master Potter has a letter from the Minister.”

Ever since Harry had destroyed the locket, the elf has been much kinder towards him and far more willing to care for him. It’s strange, and he isn’t exactly in the right state of mind to appreciate it, but every room in the house besides the one he’s currently shut himself in is dust free. There are also always meals prepared though he’s rarely hungry. If he was capable of caring, he might have noticed the worry in Kreacher’s eyes as the elf attempts to care for his lifeless Master.

“Thanks,” Harry slurs quietly, fumbling it open. It reads:

_‘Dear Mister Potter,_

_As the new Minister of magic, I would like to thank you on behalf of Wizarding Britain for your contributions to the war. Your help has been invaluable, and if we had the funds, a ceremony would be held in your honor, I assure you. As it is, I have something for you that I hope will be an expression of equivalent gratitude. Your presence is requested at your earliest convenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt’_

‘An award?’ Harry wonders, frowning and massaging his burning eyes, ‘Has he decided to hire me as an Auror?’ He hasn’t even decided if he wants to pursue the position or not now. Sure there are still a few Death Eaters out and about, but he doesn’t know if he wants a career hunting them down anymore. It’s not like he needs the money anyway.

He could stay here and drown himself for three wizarding lifetimes and it still wouldn’t make a dent to his funds.

Feeling a tug on his sleeve, he looks down and sees that Kreacher is holding a coat and hangover potion up to him. Sighing, Harry decides he might as well just get this over with. Downing the effervescent fruity elixer, he feels the aches of overindulgence fade and crushing despair return ten-fold. It takes almost all of the willpower he has left to rise to his feet. Spelling his stained clothes clean, he pulls on the nice gray robes Kreacher holds insistently out at him.

Exhaustion weighing down his every step, Harry makes his way down the stairs and outside the wards. Apparating to the ministry, he trudges past a dazed and sputtering receptionist through a veritable maze of halls to the Minister’s office. He’s hardly knocked twice before the door is ripped open to reveal the ecstatic face of his host.

"Potter! Good to see you- I didn’t expect you to come so quickly!" Kingsley booms, ushering him in even as he rushes across the room to scoop up a small, blue blanketed bundle.

“You wanted to see me?” Harry asks, curiously eyeing the blue thing as Kingsley lopes back to him with it.

"I really wish I had time to sit and chat for a spell, but I'm rather busy with all this clean-up work we've had to do," Kingsley says, looking apologetic as he gently transfers the wriggling object and a sheaf of official looking documents into Harry's alarmed arms.

"As a small thanks for your contribution to the war, I've pushed the necessary paper work through, so you can take your godson home today. I'm sure you've been worried sick about the little fella," Kingsley explains before moving to close the door on Harry, "When things around here settle down I’ll arrange a ceremony to grant you the Order of Merlin First Class- in the meantime, good luck with your new son!" The door shuts before a bewildered Harry can ask what the bloody hell the man is going on about or decide if he wants to protest.

Looking down uneasily, Harry takes in the thing that’s been placed in his arms. Light brown eyes look up at Harry beneath a mop of bright pink hair and tiny hands wave at him excitedly from within the blue wrapping. Harry is overwhelmed, and doesn't know what to think. He'd completely forgotten about the Lupins’ son. Hell, he’s ignored everything and everyone since…

Cringing he feels fleshy pulp filling his hands, the smell of burning flesh overwhelming him. Legs feeling heavy and wet, he staggers, limp hands tensing to fling what’s left of his almost lover from himself, when a soft coo cuts through the hallucination. Heart racing he looks down at the mewling infant and wonders if he should just force Kingsley to take it back now.

‘Surely it would be better, more merciful to get rid of it before it imprints,’ Harry debates, feeling its magic reach for his even as his begins subconsciously reaching back. He’s not exactly in the best mindset for children, but he’s always longed for a family. For as long as he can remember, he’s dreamed of having someone to call his own. To have a lover and as many children as he could afford to spoil. Now that Ginny’s gone, this might be his only chance to gain at least some of that dream.

‘I couldn’t bare to look at another woman after…’ Choking on the smell of burnt flesh even as he forces himself to realize it’s not real, Harry clutches Teddy desperately to his chest and feels the young energy eagerly latch onto his own, feeding off his magical core as all newborn magicals do up to a certain age.

Looking down he sees one light brown, and one very familiar _green_ eye gazing back up into his own, and resigns himself to the new strange twist his life is taking. Apparating home, he carefully makes his way inside with the new precious cargo to the living room where he sits down with his godson. The blanket has the name Teddy embroidered on it, but the adoption papers say Edward, so Harry is going to assume that Teddy is a nickname.

He’s so very tiny looking in Harry’s arms… and fluffy.

“Hey there little guy,” Harry murmurs, delicately running a hand across feather soft pink hair that is messier than his has ever been. _‘At least all that hair seems to suit the little guy,’_ Harry decides, absentmindedly brushing tiny freckled cheeks. Snuffling, the baby grabs at his fingers curiously, before finally managing to catch one. Chewing on the digit, Teddy begins rumbling happily. Laughing at the odd sound, Harry wonders if it’s normal for infants to purr.

“Silly baby; Remus was a wolf, not a kitty!” Harry coos, wiggling his fingers playfully within the infant’s grip, causing him to squeal with excitement. The scene is so adorable it makes Harry’s chest clench. In that moment he knows with one hundred percent certainty that somehow he’s going to do this. He’s going to keep Teddy and raise him as best he can.

“Kreacher!” Harry calls, gently bouncing a delighted Teddy.

“Yes Master- why does Master Potter have a baby?” Kreacher asks, face blank in surprise.

“This is Edward, he’s going to be living with us from now on. Would you be ok taking care of him while I’m at work?” Harry inquires. He’s definitely going to become an Auror now. Having a bunch of rogue Death Eaters on the loose when he has a child to rear is out of the question. He’ll need someone to watch Teddy while he’s out though. Hiring a sitter is out of the question since so many of the dark lord’s followers have yet to be apprehended and they might see it as an opportunity to attack his new family member. Luckily he won’t have to.

“Yes, but where did Master Potter get a baby?” Kreacher queries, curiously moving closer.

“Remus and Tonks named me godfather before they passed,” Harry explains, moving Teddy to where Kreacher can see him better.

“A Black family baby?” Kreacher asks, looking far more enthusiastic.

“I guess?” Harry confirms unsurely.

“Kreacher will prepare a room for Master Edward,” The elf assures him, disappearing with an excited pop. Harry feels content knowing that Teddy will be safe at home with the elf, while Harry makes sure that no ones around to hurt his baby. Perhaps it’s the rapidly growing bond between them, but he already feels extremely protective of the little boy he’s clutching so carefully close.

“No one will harm a single curl on your head while I’m around,” Harry swears, leaning down to nuzzle Teddy’s hair.

 

* * *

 

It turns out that child rearing is an area Harry naturally excels at. The amount of diapers little Edward can go through is monstrous, and he never seems to want to sleep, but it doesn’t really bother Harry. After all, he’d taken care of three extremely demanding arse holes for the entirety of his childhood, and Teddy never even comes close to their level. So no, the diapers, and the lack of sleep don’t really bother Harry since he’s never gotten much anyway. Besides, it helps to take his mind off of what happened to Ginny, and Merlin knows he needs all the help he can get forgetting that.

Work as an Auror is demanding, but again, it’s a welcome distraction. Any Death Eaters he encounters on the job either flee or attempt to kill him, which is all pretty normal for Harry. The only new thing is that later on he’s bored to tears filling out what is apparently ‘necessary’ paperwork. Despite the long hours and his exhaustion, at the end of each day he gets to come home to his son’s always changing but smiling face. A toothy little grin that makes it all worth it.

His kid is far too cute; the neighbors think so as well, but they don’t really like Harry. They all believe he dyes his poor baby’s hair, which incites ire and disapproval from the neighboring parents. Harry would correct them, but then he’d just have to obliviate them after explaining why every color of the rainbow is Edward’s natural shade. Even one of Teddy’s eyes changes color, but no one else seems to notice that. Teddy’s left eye alternates between colors, but ever since the right one turned into a green mirroring Harry’s own, it hasn’t shifted again that he’s seen.

At around a year old Teddy learns to walk, and refuses to leave Harry’s side. Room by room Teddy will toddle after him babbling nonsense. Every time Harry tries to go upstairs, Teddy will hang onto his robes, pouting until Harry takes him with him. When Teddy’s says his first real word, and it’s ‘Dada’, Harry cries a little he’s so happy.

After Dada, Teddy rapidly learns to say far more useful things like ‘I wanna tweet’, which is often accompanied by a pouty face that Harry has a lot of trouble saying no to. At five years old, that face _almost_ convinces Harry to get him a kneazle. Ted’s had a few years to perfect it, so it’s extremely deadly. Harry is close to caving in, when things take a turn for the worse.

 

* * *

  ** _August 1, 2003_ **

* * *

 

“ ** _DAAAADDYYY_**!” Teddy screams, startling Harry awake. Fear grips his heart as Harry dashes out of bed, crashing into walls as he rushes to his son’s bedroom. Bursting inside, he discovers that Teddy’s not there, and after frantically searching the house, realizes that his son isn’t anywhere to be found.

“ **TEDDY! TEDDY WHERE ARE YOU?!** ” Harry howls as he backtracks and heads down a hall he’s already been through. Just as he’s about to start hyperventilating, because he can’t find his baby, he sees that the front door is open. There are enough wards up around Grimmauld to stop an entire army from getting in, but he’s never thought to put any up to stop his kid from getting out. Whatever has happened to his son now is his fault.

Leaping down the front porch stairs he desperately cries out for his son again, praying that it’s not too late. Listening closely he hears screams coming from the park across the street, and books it towards the sound. Following a trail of blood that has been spattered down the sidewalk, he finds a rogue werewolf dragging Teddy, who is kicking and screaming, off by the arm. Patting his pockets, Harry pales as he realizes that he doesn’t have a wand. He has no doubt that if he takes the time to run inside and retrieve it, his son will be dead by the time he returns.

He isn’t going to let Teddy die because he can’t get to a bloody stick. Knowing that he doesn’t have a lot of time, Harry focuses on his magical core like he used to when he was young. Back when he still lived with the Dursleys, sometimes Harry had had to use wandless magic to heal himself, or he’d get angry and something would happen. It was always highly effective, but he’d never truly relied on it because he hadn’t seen any of his friends or teachers using wandless magic. At the time it was just another thing that would separate him from his peers, and he hadn’t wanted to be stared at anymore than he already was.

Now he prays that a wandless Avada will work since he’s so out of practice it isn’t funny. Harry swears that if he succeeds, and he’s able to save Teddy, that he’ll Master wandless magic -staring people be damned. He never wants to feel this helpless ever again. Drawing deathly green energy into his palms, he races after the beast. Seeing Harry approach, it snarls and drops Teddy before charging at him.

Dodging it’s claws, Harry apparates behind it and forces the power he’s amassed directly into the werewolf’s unguarded back. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut, it collapses to the ground dead, forever frozen in its monstrous form. Staring at the huge brute, Harry knows without a doubt that if he’d had to rely on his wand tonight, that his son would be the one lying on the ground dead, and he’s furious. Quickly using magic to get rid of the body, he spins around and rushes to where his weeping son lies. The deep puncture marks on Teddy’s upper arm make Harry feel cold inside, knowing what they mean for his poor baby.

If Teddy survives tonight, then he’s going to become a werewolf, and there isn’t a damn thing Harry can do about it. This never would have happened if he had just warded the front door better, but its too late and he’s failed his son. Because of his mistake, Teddy is going to suffer for years, if not his entire life. Carefully gathering the shaking boy up into his arms, Harry knows that he must try to avoid taking him to a wizarding hospital at all costs. He’s seen exactly how other wizards will treat Edward if they know he’s infected and Harry refuses to put his son through that.

No, saint Mungos should be the very last resort, which leaves one other option to try first. Praying that muggles can help somehow, he heals what he can wandlessly, swearing that he’ll learn more of the healing arts as well, then rushes Teddy to a non-magical hospital. It’s a long night, and his poor kid receives several stitches for the bites and scratches littering his tiny body, along with rabies vaccinations, but thankfully his son lives.

 

* * *

 

Months pass and full moons are hell on Teddy. Harry hates watching his son suffer because of a mistake **he** made but he doesn’t know what else to do. Eventually he comes to the conclusion that if he wants to help his son he’ll have to make a cure himself. Resolutely Harry tracks down professor Slughorn and begs for an apprenticeship, knowing that the man will be too flattered by the great Harry Potter asking for help to refuse him. He’s right, and so to make more time for the lessons, Harry quits his job as an Auror despite the ministry’s vehement protests.

It takes four years of relentless studying, but it all pays off when Harry becomes a certified potions Master. Fully capable of brewing his son wolfsbane potions, he’s finally begun to pursue a more permanent solution. His research so far has only revealed that nowhere in recorded history has a werewolf actually been cured, but he refuses to let that stop him. The ministry remains unaware of his son’s furry problem, but by this point in time they are all aware that Harry has become an advanced potions Master, a credit to his field. Because of this, it isn’t hard to convince them to let him use infected criminals as test subjects for his attempts to eradicate lycanthropy.

It’s thanks to this that Harry eventually finds new ways to treat the curses symptoms. His most recent elixir prevents werewolves from feeling any pain or being contagious when they undergo the transformation, and even allows them to keep their minds. It’s a major improvement and the wizarding world thanks him for it. Regrettably it’s been difficult to make time for Teddy with everything else. Between potions classes, brewing wolfsbane, experimenting in the lab, and teaching himself wandless magic, he hasn’t spent much time with his son.

It breaks his heart, but he can’t do anything about it. He refuses to stop until he’s cured Teddy. Sadly, Time doesn’t stop for anyone, and before he knows it his son is about to turn eleven.

 

* * *

  ** _April 6, 2009_ **

* * *

 

“Alright, one more time, what kind of cake do you want?” Harry asks, quill poised over parchment. It’s the week before Teddy’s eleventh birthday, and he needs to go out and buy food for the party. He can’t believe his baby is about to go to Hogwarts. He’s getting too damn old!

“Lemon!” Teddy declares, beaming at him from his seat at the table. Harry doesn’t know when his kid started liking that flavor, but its probably Kreacher’s fault. Harry can’t stand the taste thanks to a certain old man with a lemon drops problem.

“Lemon it is,” Harry says, repressing a shudder. Merlin he hates the taste, but if his son wants it then Harry will get him a damn lemon cake. “We’ll also get chocolate and vanilla for the others. Anything else you want while I’m out?” Harry asks, jotting down the requests.

“Nope, but when you get home you should teach me how to float so I can wow the other kids!” Teddy states hopefully, sliding out of the chair to approach him.

“Teddy, you’re already going to ‘wow’ them enough with all the wandless magic you know. I’m not sure Minerva will survive the heart attack you’ll give her if you start floating around everywhere! …But we’ll see,” Harry laughs, pulling him in for a hug, “Are you sure you need to go to Hogwarts? I could always teach you here,” Harry half offers, half begs, clutching Teddy closer. He hates that he’s only going to see his kid a few times a year. Sure he’ll have more time to work, but he’d prefer to have Teddy home and safe while he does it.

“No way! I have to go so I can get on a quidditch team. I want to be a seeker like you were,” Teddy says seriously.

“All right… But if you ever want to quit school, and live at home forever, -Daddy’s here,” Harry swears, nuzzling Teddy’s fluffy mane. He’s proud of his kid for going, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. At least Teddy knows when to take his potions, and how to ward his bed so no one will discover his little furry problem.

“I love you too dad,” Teddy says, smiling up at him. It’s so damn cute Harry goes in for one last hug just as the doorbell rings.

“I’ll try to get back as soon as I can,” Harry says, pulling back and opening the door before he can change his mind.

“Hi Harry,” Luna greets, making her way inside to scoop Teddy up for hugs and kisses.

“Thanks for coming Luna,” he smiles, then asks, “You’re sure you’ll be alright alone with him for a few hours? I know he can be a handful.” Luna is one of the few people he’s still comfortable having around after everything, and Teddy loves her to pieces so it all works out. She doesn’t insist on bringing up the past like Hermione who still, even to this day will send him letters that once were pleading, now simply demand that he forgive Ron.

Apparently Ron hasn’t been coping well, and Harry would forgive him if he could… But he can’t. Not after Ron ruined the only thing left that mattered. He can’t even think about Ron without smelling…

“The little prince and I should be just fine,” she assures him with an airy smile, interrupting his downward spiral. Luna’s amazing like that.

Chuckling he says, “Alright. If you need anything or think of something else I should add to the list, just use one of the enchanted coins.” Once useful during the war, now the coins made keeping in contact with his few friends easy. Harry rather prefers them over waiting for owls that only serve to remind him of Hedwig.

Closing the door, he turns and makes sure all of his wards are in place, inside and out. When he’s sure that they’re secure, he heads down the street towards the nearest shopping center. There are all kinds of things he’ll need for Teddy’s big day tomorrow. After all, this year will be the last birthday that Teddy is at home to celebrate it with him.

He’s a few blocks away from the first store, considering whether or not to teach Teddy to float, when something slams into the back of his head. Between one blink and the next he collapses to the ground. Foreign hands tear at his robe, but Harry is unable to move so much as a finger to stop them from pilfering his pockets. His glasses are crushed in the altercation, but he can still see that there’s red everywhere. Distantly, he realizes that the red is his own blood pooling around him, and he knows with grim certainty that he isn’t going to make it.

The thing Harry regrets the most as the world fades away, is that he won’t live long enough to cure his son.

 

* * *

 

A beeping noise wakes Harry an indeterminate amount of time later. Confused, he looks towards the sound and sees that he’s hooked up to some sort of heart monitor. Remembering the blow he took to the head earlier, and all of the blood he lost, he’s not really shocked to be in a hospital. What’s most surprising is that he’s alive, and that even though his glasses are still missing, he can clearly read the devices around him.

He’s very confused.

Assessing his current state, he feels his head stinging a little, but other than that everything seems normal. He’s definitely not paralyzed or dead, which is a relief, but he has no idea how that’s possible. Something isn’t right, but he can’t bring himself to care because he’s alive and that means he’ll be able to see his son again. Sitting up, he tells himself that it’s entirely possible that he just hallucinated all that blood.

“Oh my god. You’re awake! That’s incredible er- I mean, hello, I’m Dr Stross,” the scruffy man in scrubs fumbles to say.

“What happened to me?” Harry demands. He hopes Teddy isn’t too worried about him. He has no idea how long he’s been here.

“Someone mugged you and left you for dead. You lost quite a bit of blood from a severe head injury, and when you flat lined the staff were unable to restart your heart. We’d pretty much given up on you when your heart just started back up on it’s own. It’s a miracle that you’re alive really,” Stross exclaims.

Blinking Harry asks, “So I’m fine?”

“Strangely enough, yes! At the least we expected brain damage or some form of paralysis, but here you are sitting up and talking. I’ve never seen anything like it!” Stross declares, looking at Harry like he’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“That’s great. Where do I sign out?” Harry deadpans. He doesn’t like this doctor, or doctors in general really. Probably because they’d never been willing to help him as a child when the Dursleys abused him. He wants out of this hospital. The sooner the better.

“Sir, your head was caved in when we found you. We should really hold you overnight just to make sure-,“ the doctor starts to say, before Harry casts a memory altering charm at him.

“You won’t remember any part of this conversation. You came in here to check on the patient and found him dead, as you expected. If anyone asks, you had someone remove the body, and have contacted the family of the deceased. Do you understand?” Harry demands. The spelled man nods slowly.

“Good,” Harry says. Wobbling to his feet, he apparates home and almost collapses multiple times on his way up the darkened front steps and down the hall. Leaning against the wall for support, he takes a few deep breaths to try and center himself.

“Master Potter? What happened?!” Kreacher asks, alarmed as he takes in the bandage wrapped around Harry’s head. Wincing at the volume, Harry turns towards the elf.

“It’s nothing, I just bumped my head,” Harry lies. “Would you help me get these bandages off and take a look at it?” He asks, motioning to the cloth wrapped tightly around his skull

“Yes Master,” Kreacher says, carefully helping him the rest of the way to his room. Entering the bedroom, Harry maneuvers to where he can see himself in the mirror hanging on his wall as Kreacher begins to unwrap the bandages around his head. He needs to assess how bad the damage is so he can try to heal it if he has to. The last of the bandages comes off but no matter how closely Harry looks, there isn’t even a mark from where he was bludgeoned. As he looks closer at himself, he notices that all of his scars have mysteriously vanished …including the horcrux scar he’s had on his forehead since he was a baby.

His body has also changed in other subtle ways; he’s actually grown an inch or two, giving himself a slightly leaner look; it’s disturbing. Warily looking himself over one last time, Harry walks away, determined to figure this out some other time, preferably after his son leaves for Hogwarts. Right now he has a party to set up, and he’s going to have to go shopping all over again.

A dirty blond head pops out of the living room, pausing to take in his altered appearance before approaching.

“Great and terrible things lie ahead for you Harry. I hope you’ll remember us fondly after we become less than a dream,” Luna’s voice says, pale silver eyes looking at him sadly. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he can reassure her of one thing.

“I could never forget someone as memorable as you Luna,” he smiles, hugging her close.

 

* * *

 

Time seems to fly by over the next few years. Teddy is sorted into Ravenclaw where he excels in all of his classes, and on the Quidditch field. His son is the latest and greatest seeker of the family, and Harry couldn’t be more proud. Frankly, he’d be proud no matter what, he’s just glad that Teddy doesn’t get into near as much trouble as he did when he was younger. There are nights he has nightmares of Teddy fighting off basilisks and wakes in a cold sweat.

Thankfully that never happens. Teddy is a well-behaved child who makes many a new friend each year at Hogwarts. Around the winter hols during Teddy’s fifth year of school, all of Harry’s hard work finally pays off when he succeeds in making a lycanthropy cure. For the first time Harry becomes known throughout the wizarding world for more than just defeating Voldemort. It feels amazing.

The cure is going to help so many people, which is fantastic, but really Harry’s just happy that he can finally help his son. It feels wonderful to know that Teddy won’t suffer for his mistakes anymore.

 

* * *

  ** _September 12, 2012_ **

* * *

 

It’s been a few months since the cure was released, and Harry is taking a small break from an extremely delicate project when he receives a fire call from saint Mungos.

“I’m so sorry to have to inform you of this Mr. Potter, but your son was attacked during a Hogsmead outing, and, well… It isn’t good. I’ve done my best to patch him up, but his injuries are far too severe to even transfer him to St. Mungos. There’s nothing more I can do for him. You’d best hurry, he doesn’t have long left,” Madam Pomfrey sadly informs him, voice thick with grief.

Stricken, Harry rushes to the school hospital wing where Pomfrey quickly directs him to Teddy. Red skin and blood contrast sickeningly with the white hospital sheets his poor son is laying on. Tired, bloodshot, heterochromatic eyes stare sadly up at him from the mess that was once Teddy’s sweet face.

“What happened?!” Harry croaks as he stares helplessly at all of the damage.

“Greyback,” Teddy wheezes, “Wanted revenge. The cure- But s’not your fault dad. Don’t blame you… you did the righ- * **cough*** the right thing making it. You just wanted to help. I know that, so don’t- don’t blame yourself for this.” Harry wants to hold Teddy, to comfort both of them, but he doesn’t want to risk hurting his son even more, so he holds himself back.

“Shh… hush Teddy bear, its gonna be alright. You’re gonna be ok!” Harry insists. _‘For the love of Merlin, please, I can’t lose the only real family I’ve ever had. Not because of another one of my screw-ups. Please not my Teddy!’_ Harry silently pleads to anyone who might be listening.

“It’s not. The people here can’t fix me, -but it’s ok. I know they can’t, and that’s ok. I’m just- glad that I got to see you, one more time. I love you dad,” Teddy states, trying to make this easier on his father. He’s well aware that his dad blames himself for anything even remotely bad that happens to him, and he doesn’t want this to be one of them.

His father has spent his whole life doing nothing but caring for him, and cleaning up whatever messes he makes. He hates that he’s going to put his father through hell all over again. Teddy really wishes that it didn’t have to end this way.

“NO! No, I can help you; I know I can! All you have to do is give me permission, and I’ll find a way. _Please_ ,” Harry begs, tears rolling freely down his face. If his son doesn’t want to live then he won’t make him, but if Teddy gives him permission then Harry _will_ save him. No matter how long it takes, he’ll fix everything and get his son back.

“…Ok. If you want to try, then you have my permission, just -don’t get your hopes up,” Teddy reluctantly agrees. His body is exhausted, and he just wants to give in, but his father has asked him to try.

“Thank you,” Harry sobs. Shaking, he backs up and casts as many stasis charms as he can think of on Teddy. When he’s sure that he’ll make it home alive, Harry gently scoops him up with his magic, and then runs them as quickly as he can to the nearest floo. They make it to his lab in record time, where Harry begins to work.

He tries everything he can think of to fix his son. Potions, spells, muggle surgery, everything, but in the end there’s nothing he can do. For two weeks his home resounds with Teddy’s tormented screams as Harry repeatedly tries and fails to save him. At the end of the fourth day Teddy begins to beg for death; Harry gives in ten days later, and ends his son’s pain with a swift Avada.

Standing by the empty husk, Harry feels himself grow cold. It’s a relief because if he was able to feel anything, he might not be able to gather the necessary samples from the stiffening corpse. He’ll need them later to help get his son back. How he’ll do it, Harry doesn’t know, but he has to try. Hair, blood, and tissue samples are all collected from the body before he reluctantly orders Kreacher to cremate what’s left of it.

The elf, unlike him, is openly weeping, but he does as instructed. Harry’s eyes remain dry as he watches the process, unsure of what he should do now, but in the end he decides he is owed some time to grieve as well. Kreacher is inconsolable, so Harry has to wander aimlessly to the nearest store himself. He purchases nothing but hard liquor, then meanders back home where he sits in his favorite wing backed chair drinking and pondering what to do. There are two things he wants, Fenrir Greyback dead, and to have his son alive again.

Throughout his life Harry has lost everyone that’s ever mattered to him; Ginny, his parents, Sirius, Remus, and countless others, but he refuses to let his son be one of them. This time. he’s going to get someone back. It’ll take awhile, but in the meantime he can check off one of the two things on his very short list of goals. Drunk on vodka and rage, Harry clenches his fists, as he thinks about the person responsible for this travesty. He wants the former wolf’s head mounted on his wall, and his skin used as a rug.

In that moment there is nothing Harry desires more, and he needs it right away. Greyback took the only thing Harry loves, so he needs to die. Mind muddled with liquor and rage, he stumbles to the front door, determined to have his revenge. Kreacher tries to stop him, but Harry just shoves him away. It is with eager anticipation and a bottle in hand that he goes to hunt down the monster.

…It doesn’t end well. Somehow, he finds Greyback, but he’s too drunk to aim properly, and ends up taking a blasting curse to the head, spraying his brain matter everywhere.

 

* * *

 

**_"It’s been awhile since the last time we met, hasn’t it Master?"_ **

Opening his eyes at the familiar rasp, Harry turns to Death, confused as he takes in the empty train station for the second time. He thought that he’d dreamed this place up… apparently not.

"I thought you said I'd never come back here?" Harry asks curiously, a hint of relief in his voice. Maybe he'll get to see Teddy again after all.

Death shakes it's head and says ** _," No, I said you would never board a train, and you won't. This is just where your soul has chosen to go while I repair your body; normally you wouldn’t actually be aware of being here, but it takes a little longer to fix you if magic is involved in your death. At least for the first time a spell is used against you."_**

"Oh," Harry exhales, disappointed.

 ** _"It's curious,"_** the Reaper hisses, grinning slyly _, **"That you have yet to use any of my gifts… I expected that you would have at least used the resurrection stone to see your son again."**_ Harry pales as it dawns on him that the only item he could have used to see Teddy again was lost Merlin knows where in the forbidden forest.

 ** _"Mmm, yes, throwing the stone away was quite foolish of you Master… Fortunately for you, you have me, your eternally faithful servant,"_** Death smirks, reaching out to grasp Harry’s hand. A light, familiar weight drops into Harry’s palm. For a moment he feels relieved, but then the stone begins to burn him.

Gritting his teeth in agony he instinctually flings out his hand, attempting to dislodge the object, but it clings stubbornly. The stone continues to grow ever hotter, as it heats to the point where it might as well be molten lava as it turns to liquid and dissolves into his skin.

"What have you done?!" Harry howls angrily, curling protectively over his burned hand. How would he ever see his son again without the stone?!

 ** _"Now, now Master, calm down. It’s not gone, I’ve simply decided that I’m tired of watching you toss away my hallows. To prevent this I've changed the stone to be the blood that flows through your very veins,"_** Death states, and then continues, in a low deadly voice _, **"I can’t understand why you would ever want to be rid of my presents in the first place. I've given you a stone to see the dead, a cloak to hide your loved ones from my sight, and have even given you infinite magical power… But you tossed aside my stone, have been planning to break my wand, which you rarely used, and placed my cloak in a locked box to collect dust!"**_ Harry leans away nervously as Death floats above him menacingly, stating, **_"I chose you as my Master, and you accepted that position when you didn't board the train."_**

Leaning forward, Death towers over him, his cloak snapping in a nonexistent wind and snarls _, **"I want you to use my gifts! I want to see what the wizard I chose to hold my power can do with it! They are not the trash that you have been treating them as. No one else can ever be my Master, and I don’t want another one. The hallows are for your use alone, so you WILL use them!"**_

Gripping Harry’s shoulder Death ominously hisses, **_"Even if I have to make you,"_** and then it shoves the elder wand directly into Harry’s heart. Choking on a scream, Harry watches helplessly as the wand is absorbed into his body. Pure, unlimited power, pumps through his veins eating at his own massive magical core to make room for itself. Harry can tell that his magic is losing, but it fights to the bitter end against the invasive power that is rapidly and painfully assimilating it. Pained howls are wrenched from him, and he would have collapsed already, if Death hadn’t gripped his shoulder to hold him steady.

“Why?” Harry croaks quietly, as the pain fades away and darkness begins moving towards them in waves. He doesn’t understand why the being won’t just leave him alone.

 ** _"Perhaps I’ll tell you someday,”_** _Death_ murmurs, dropping an inky cloak over him just as the lights flicker out.

 

* * *

 

Harry blinks awake to the sound of panicked shouting. Greyback, and his cronies, who are beyond terrified, stand stunned around his rising form.

“This isn’t possible! I killed you!” Greyback chokes, backing away from him.

“You’ll have to try much harder than that,” Harry says, spiting out fragments of his skull, as he stands up and stalks towards his would be murderers.

“To hell with this!” one of the six terrified men squeaks, wisely taking off. He is the only man to survive the next few hours. Magic more powerful than ever, Harry has no trouble holding the fools who didn’t run off in place.

Unlike when he lost Ginny, he’s free to take his time and ensure they all suffer. As they should after half cannibalizing Teddy in some demented attempt to relive their glory days as wolves.

“What the-? I can’t move!” the largest man shrieks fearfully, stating the obvious as Harry strides towards him. Raising a single finger, he allows his newly amassed power to gather and then gleefully taps the man’s tensed abdomen. Blood-curdling screams fill the air as the big man’s blood turns acidic and ever so slowly begins to dissolve him from the inside out. His companions cry out in a symphony of terror.

“FUCK!!”

“GERALD!”

“Oh shit…”

“You sick son of a-”

The last cry is cut brutally short as every bone in his body develops massive spikes that easily punch through him. He’s dead before he hits the ground. The short scruffy man next to him proceeds to vomit on his fallen comrade.

“Lets leave my mother out of this shall we?” Harry states softly, a not so subtle threat in his words. “Besides, I think we all know that of the four of us, you three are the bitches here. You take such pride in being a bunch of lowly mongrels after all.” Fenrir snarls, ignoring the thinly veiled venom unlike his companions who cower in fear.

“Oh Merlin-! Please don’t kill me, I’m sorry!” begs the scruffy one, bile still clinging to his trembling chin. Head tilting to look at the fool who drew his attention, Harry allows his shadow to stretch further than it should, winding almost playfully up the feet of the sniveling mutt. Everywhere the shade touches begins to shrivel and rot, draining the wailing man until there’s little more than dust.

The two remaining wizards shake where they are rooted, now from a combination of unadulterated fear and Harry’s overwhelming power. The dishwater blond next to Fenrir soils himself when Harry’s gaze falls on him.

As the edges of his lips curl into a vicious mockery of a smile, glowing emerald orbs stare piercingly into the wretches’ eyes as Harry commands using a wandless imperio, “Eat him.” Eyes glazing, the man turns to a petrified Fenrir, opens his maw and begins gorging himself on his howling companion as Fenrir had on Teddy.

Harry takes his time, forcing himself to listen to every scream that is wrenched from Greyback as the man is consumed. He wonders if this is what Teddy sounded like under Greyback’s unforgiving fangs and feels his heart harden further. Using magic similar to what he used on Teddy, he keeps Fenrir alive longer than he should have been with how many pieces he’s missing. Eventually, though Harry is loath to cut his enjoyment short, he acknowledges that there are more important things that he needs to focus on. Teddy isn’t going to resurrect himself after all, but he refuses to leave before he gets one more thing.

 _“Apologize, and I’ll let you die,”_ Harry hisses towards the mess that was once Greyback, absentmindedly snapping the neck of the imperioused blonde. He doesn’t notice that he’s slipped into parseltongue, but Fenrir does and he quakes in pain and fear.

“F-f-fug o-ou!” Greyback whimpers through a broken, half devoured jaw.

“Apologize,” Harry orders, subconsciously slipping back into English. Greyback glares up at him then spits on his boots. Lifting the shoe, he presses it down on the brute’s sternum until Greyback goes blue in the face. “If you don’t apologize, I’m just going to hurt you more and more until you do. Depending on how stubborn you are that could take hours. In the end, you’re going to apologize, and then I’m going to kill you. The only unknown variable here is how soon you’ll cave. Do you _really_ want to be in more pain than you currently are?” Harry asks, sneering down at the disfigured man by his feet.

Sobbing, Greyback curls in on himself and chokes, “S-sowwy…”

“What? I can’t hear you, so you must not be very sincere,” Harry snarls, casting crucio.

“M’ SORWY!!” Greyback Howls, seizing on the ground.

Closing his eyes, Harry savors the blood curdling wails one last time before casting, “Avada Kedavra!” Greyback falls silent and still, but Harry’s mind still echoes with his son’s screams.

 

* * *

 

“I’m home…” Harry calls softly as he apparates into his room at Grimmauld. No one answers back, so Harry assumes that Kreacher is still pissed at him for leaving in a drunken rage. Shrugging, Harry makes his way towards his bed, exhausted and ready to retire for the evening, when he sees an old scrapbook lying open on his bedside table. Recalling his conversation with Death, he gently picks up the book and flips through it, finally noticing what he should have a long time ago. Throughout the book, all the pictures of Teddy grow and age, but after a certain point, Harry who is often standing near him, does not.

Whirling around, he looks into his mirror with the book held open, and is shocked when he compares his current look to the earliest pictures of him and Teddy. Whereas before, he looked scrawny and scruffy, now he looks taller, and definitely healthier; though he rarely eats or sleeps these days. His hair that he’s lazily let grow, hangs past his hips looking wavy and glossy. His eyes are less his mothers green, and more of an Avada Kedavra shade, promising death to all who fall before his gaze. His skin is now a flawless creamy pale, and his whole body has filled out for a more lean and muscular look as well.

Overall, his features have become more androgynous. The healthier look isn’t what’s wrong though. What’s wrong is that even though so many things have changed, it doesn’t look like he’s aged for a while now. Thinking back, Harry wonders when he’d stopped, and remembers the night he’d been mugged and left for dead so many years ago. His scars had vanished the next morning, and his glasses had become unnecessary. He’d been too busy at the time to give the changes more than a passing glance, but he wishes he had.

Now he’s standing face to face with a stranger, and he doesn’t have a single bloody idea what he’s supposed to do about it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he lets his head rest against the mirror and prays that when he opens them he’ll see his old face. He has no such luck, and the proof that it’s still perplexingly real stands there looking back at him with its mesmerizingly green eyes.

Puzzling over what his next move should be, he remembers Death giving him the stone, and the painful burn of the elder wand eating at his core. Excitement thrums through Harry’s veins like the stone in his blood as it occurs to him that if he merely wishes for it, he could have his son back right now.

He is mere seconds away from summoning his son, when he remembers the story of what happened to the wife of the man in the deathly hallows story. He refuses to put Teddy through that, but there has to be a way around causing his son constant pain! Pacing, he considers and trashes a dozen different ideas before he realizes that all he has to do is get Teddy a body, and then put his soul into it. Everything he’s ever heard about resurrection says that people come back wrong because the caster can’t bring back the soul. He’s already doing better than most people, because he already has access to Teddy’s soul.

Laughing madly, Harry accepts that his lack of aging is going to be a major boon here. He’ll have all the time in the world to solve this problem. Failing now is practically an impossibility rather than an inevitable conclusion, and it’s exhilarating. He **IS** going to get his son back, no matter how long it takes. Placing the scrapbook down, he heads to his lab; any desire for sleep forgotten in this moment of triumph and discovery.

He’s got a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you guys have enjoyed the new and improved first chapter to this story! I’ve worked very hard and would love to hear your opinions on the new version, so feel free to comment, but please no flames! ^_^


	2. The Abyss Stared Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are starting out here-If you are starting out here-
> 
> PLEASE HEAD BACK AND READ CHAPTER ONE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!!
> 
> -updates have been made guys! Not too much has changed in this chapter, but it does go more in depth on Teddy's back story so you can get a better feel of his personality! Getting there guys, sorry for the delay! J Not too much has changed in this chapter, but it does go more in depth on Teddy’s back story so you can get a better feel of his personality!

* * *

  ** _July 28, 2190_**

* * *

 Awareness returns to Teddy with his first desperate inhalation. Overcome by flashes of his last agonizing weeks of life, Teddy clenches his eyes shut and adjusts quivering limbs, curling himself into a defensive ball. Sobs of relief wrack his pubescent form at the absence of pain, but his tears fall far more swiftly as it dawns on him how he has arrived at this 'oasis' from torment. His father, his kind and unfailing hero... has given up on him.

Undoubtedly he'd done it to be merciful, but Teddy doesn't want mercy from his father. No, Teddy would rather suffer by his father's side than never see him again. It isn't like he hasn't been through great anguish before. Nothing has ever come close to causing him the distress he'd once endured with every transformation into his lupine form. The difference this time had been the length of his suffering. That’s what had overwhelmed him to the point that he'd helplessly begged for death, though he dearly wishes he'd refrained.

At least when he'd been on the carving slab he could be sure of his father's unwavering devotion to him. He'd seen it in his father's tormented eyes as Teddy instinctually begged for an end to the constant burning brought by surgically precise hands. Here, wherever he is now, that loving and determined presence is absent. Teddy can sense somehow that should he remain, he will never feel it's gentle brush again.

Unacceptable.

Yanking harshly at his hair, Teddy desperately wails, "FATHER!!" and listens, not yet daring to open his eyes. The answering silence is unbearable, -maddening even. Clenching his teeth, Teddy opens multi-colored eyes. Surrounding him on all sides is an empty gray abyss. The silently swirling mists bring him no comfort, only a growing sense of isolation.

Shakily uncurling from his crouch, Teddy scours the barren void for a means by which to leave its daunting reach. He has to return to his father. He can't bear the thought of leaving him alone to suffer when he only did what Teddy regrettably begged for him to do in the first place. His father is far too kind, though Teddy is unable to begrudge him for the trait. He's Teddy's hero after all: kind, brave, and loyal only to him.

That loyalty is why Teddy refuses to remain here, because he shares it. He'd do anything to ensure his father's happiness, and is well aware that without him around the man might very well go mad.

 _‘But how do I escape from death?’_ Teddy broods despondently, peering anxiously around the eerie zone he's landed in. A soft crackling sound echoes behind him causing him to tense. Reaching for his wand, Teddy comes up empty and feels tendrils of dread creep up his spine, more so when he notices a shadow lengthening from his feet. Cursing he slowly turns, then freezes with unease at the thing drifting slowly towards him through the mist. Creaking and cracking as it comes ever closer, is a tarnished golden mirror.

Adorning the top of its gleaming frame, Teddy can make out glyphs carved into it, although it’s far too dark for them to be legible. The mirror stops its approach a mere foot in front of him, and for a moment all is quiet and still. Heart racing with apprehension, Teddy watches as the hazy mist occluding its surface ripples and fades. What he sees on the other side makes his stomach roil.

Breath hitching with terror, Teddy swiftly maneuvers out of the frame, hoping and praying that the thing on the other side hasn’t noticed him. Quieting his breaths, he guardedly peers around the corner into a room of carmine carnage. Teddy’s never seen so much red in all his life.

What he initially thought a monster is revealed to be a gore-coated individual with their back thankfully turned to Teddy. Long hair lies limply against an equally drenched cloak that drags against the floor, leaving red streaks as the being takes a leisurely step forward.

A wet crunching echoes beneath its sturdy boot, and Teddy struggles not to gag. Spread at the murderer’s feet in a chaotic circle, are unrecognizable hunks of flesh and bone that are carelessly being stepped through. A door opens at one side of the room and a vicious, deformed looking goblin waddles in, bowing reverently before the blood soaked being.

“Lord Peverell, the temporal sifter is prepared for activation,” the goblin gloats, seeming pleased with itself. Teddy stiffens at the name Peverell, knowing from childhood storybooks that the Peverell’s had a close relationship with death.

“Excellent. I will join you at the hall of time as soon as I take care of things here,” replies a familiar male voice. The goblin inclines his head, leaving as Teddy ponders where he’s heard those soothing tones before. At the loud thud of the door slamming shut, Teddy snaps out of his daze, tensing further as the man slowly turns around. The face that greets him leaves him choking on air.

“Dad?” Teddy pleads, hoping that what he’s seeing is real.

“Teddy!” Harry exclaims, beaming at him.

“Oh thank Merlin, you’re really here,” Teddy blubbers, pressing as close to the glass as he can, unable to get through but still too relieved to care. Harry is here, he didn’t really give up on Teddy, and he never will. Slowly starting to process information again, he takes in the blood covering his father and demands, “What happened? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?!”

“It’s alright Teddy, I’m fine. I promise that none of it’s mine,” he swears, green eyes never straying from Teddy’s equally emerald eye.

"Wait, then whose-?” Teddy starts, then blanches, once more taking in the horrific scene surrounding his father. His father, who is coated in gore, looking relieved and smiling at him like it’s the winter hols come early. “…Oh shite. _You_ did this!"

"I only did what was necessary in order to bring you back," his poor, mad father swears, pressing a blood soaked hand to the glass between them, uncaring as he steps through the remains of one of the unlucky bastards who had been deemed 'necessary'. Teddy gags. "I told you I’d save you. Soon you'll even have your own body again," Harry sighs, lovingly stroking the backs of his fingers along the outline of Teddy's face, leaving red streaks across the glass.

Cringing at the idea that this is somehow his fault- that his father's insanity had been caused by him, Teddy covers his eyes and groans, "I didn't mean for you to do this. I didn't want you to kill people!" He’d never thought his father capable of something like this. So cold and uncaringly remorseless… Harry used to put on a tough face for him, but Teddy had always known how fragile his heart truly was underneath it all. He’s one of the few who have seen that side of his father because that heart has only ever been wholeheartedly loving and kind towards Teddy since he was a child.

He’d been so naïve back then though, back before he’d realized why everyone was so very kind to him. Such a stupid little boy, easily fooled by the ‘kindness’ of strangers, he’d fallen into the simplest of ploys- the cruelest fabrications of affection. When he was younger, before his stupidity had ruined his life, Harry had done his best to be everything for him. He’d go in to work a few days a week, then happily spend the rest of them with Teddy.

 It should have been enough. Oh how he loathed his younger self who hadn’t known enough to appreciate how good he’d had it. Instead, during his early years at magical daycare, whenever his father had to work and wanted him to socialize more, Teddy had watched the other magical families with envy. Selfishly he’d longed for the only thing he believed he was missing: a mother.

Such an easy thing to fix he’d thought, seeing how many women flocked to his lovely fathers side. Not once had he paid any heed to all of the obvious signs of Harry’s discomfort and distrust at such attentions. He’d instead focused on how his father was still grieving over Ginny, saw him weeping over her pictures, and cringing from fireplaces- rarely would you find him using a floo. Teddy had fancied making everything better for both of them. Of finding some perfect person that would stop Harry’s nightly fits and cease the longing in Teddy’s heart for a maternal figure that would coddle him as he’d seen Lady Malfoy do with his friend Scorpius.

One of the sitters at the daycare, Flora Carrow, had seemed perfect. She was always so kind to him, doting on him over all others and happily teaching him whatever he so desired, much to the envy of the other children. He’d trusted her, babbled without a care to her eager ears all the things he knew of his father, hoping she’d be enticed into pursuing him as the two had never actually met as far as he was aware. In return she gifted him with all manner of treats and praise.

He’d loved her. Slipped and called her ‘mamma’ many times, becoming happily flustered when she’d hug him in return and call him her precious little boy. So eager to please her he hadn’t worried nor protested once when she’d asked him to meet her in the park near his home one night. 

She hadn’t even been there that moonlit eve. In her stead, a snarling beast had descended upon him, and while he’d made it out alive, he certainly hadn’t made it out unscathed. Cursed by his naivety and greed, he’d ruined not only his life, but Harry’s as well. He never saw Flora again, and though he tried many times, never gained the courage to confide in his father that the curse he’d received had been his own fault.

Guilt and shame tormented Teddy as he watched his father fade from his life, a desolate shell of his former self. His father became a ghost in their own home. Rarely did he see Harry out of the labs at Grimmauld, always busy trying to fix the nightmare Teddy had made of their lives. Apologies and promises were given to Teddy every time they spoke to one another, his father, always so desperate to make up for what he perceived as his own unforgiveable failure.

Teddy would flinch from the words, hating himself more when Harry would see his reaction and draw further into himself, believing that his son rightfully blamed him for his ailments. He couldn’t be further from the truth. Would never know that his greedy, spineless son was the one at fault. Teddy knows how repulsive he truly is on the inside.

Too ashamed and terrified to ever tell Harry who was truly responsible for all their woes, knowing that he’d lose the one good thing he’d always had but rarely truly appreciated. The wonderful, amazing person he should have cherished from the beginning and known better than to be so selfish as to want more than he’d had. He’d had everything.

Why, oh Merlin why couldn’t he see then that having Harry’s love and devotion was enough? It should have been enough.

Oh how he loathed himself. The only thing Teddy hated more than himself growing up were the strangers that flocked to him and his father. Rose tinted glasses removed he could see their ‘kindness’ for what it truly was. Greed. Desire. Longing for what they didn’t have, for what having Harry’s love and devotion could give them.

Each of them were shattered reflections of the deceitful woman and the terrible emotions that had brought Teddy’s world crumbling down around him. Seeing them as they truly were, the nauseatingly familiar sickness that fueled their empty hearts, he both understood and despised them. Harry deserved far better than the hollow creatures that preyed upon him the rare times he’d take Teddy out.

His own personal miracle, the dimmed but still wonderful light of his life, was surrounded by an irreverent society that tore at him until Teddy could endure it no more. He’d done his best to keep them all at bay, glaring them down, sneering with distaste and using the wandless magic his father taught him to confound and distract them.

Harry remained oblivious of all the unfortunate incidents that happened around him. He was happy believing Teddy to be his brilliant, innocent little boy, unaware that everyone but Harry considered him a cold, callous little monster. The terrifying beast that guarded the beauty. It was a satisfying arrangement until Fenrir caught Teddy by surprise, which lead him to where he is currently. Now it’s been Merlin knows how long, and his father clearly isn’t doing well.

To see Harry like this, driven to madness because Teddy had failed him once more…

‘I’ve got to fix this,’ Teddy despairs. 

“I’m sorry if what I’ve done has upset you, but I-,” his father breathes deeply, leans his wet red face against the glass and confesses softly, “I missed you… Merlin I’ve missed you.” As if saying the words shattered some dam within him, he began to cry. Teddy has only ever seen his father cry on the anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts or after a horrific nightmare he always refuses to divulge the details of. The fact that he’s crying about how much he’s missed Teddy startles him enough to momentarily forget why he’s upset.

“Shhh, It’s alright dad, I’m here now. Please don’t cry,” Teddy begs, wanting nothing more than to hug his trembling father, prevented by the blasted glass wall between them, “I can’t have been gone that long -you haven’t aged a day!” Looking up through watering eyes, Harry shakes his head at Teddy.

"I may not look like I've aged," he cautiously informs Teddy, wiping his face in an attempt to dry it only to spread more blood beneath his lashes. Teddy eyes the red uncomfortably as Harry continues quietly, “but in a few days I’ll be two hundred years old.”

"…What." Teddy deadpans, absolutely stunned. His father has never lied to him, so it must be true, but Teddy can't help but wonder, "How?"

"Do you remember the fairytale about the three brothers and Death? The one I used to read to you?" he asks, only confusing Teddy more.

"Yes?" Teddy mutters, not sure where this is going. Vaguely he remembers the goblin who’d been in the room earlier calling his father Lord Peverell.

"A long time ago I was able to collect all three hallows, making me the Master of Death. That's actually how I was able to defeat Voldemort, and it's also how I survived the killing curse. As Death’s one true Master, I can't die, and I don't age," he gently informs Teddy, looking worried about how he'll take the news.

"Okay, but that doesn’t explain how I’m back after almost two hundred years," Teddy says tonelessly, trying to accept what his father is telling him and what it truly means. All of the people he knows - _knew_ , are either dead or on their deathbeds, while his father is an immortal who has spent the last two centuries trying to resurrect him. Kreacher, Luna, Neville, the Malfoys- long gone. It sounds too insane to be real.

"As the Master of Death I have access to the souls of the deceased, but making a new living vessel for someone that won’t reject the souls unique magical core is a very complex art. I’ve found a way to do it, to build such a body for you, but getting to the device that will enable me to do so is just as complicated as making the body. To get there I needed to store your soul somewhere safe for the journey," he explains to Teddy, continuing, "The problem was that I couldn't get your soul to bond with an object because it wasn't my own soul. I fixed that by ritually linking our souls together, which created a bond between them. The ritual itself was very similar to when I blood adopted you… besides the human sacrifice of course. The next step was simple, I just picked a powerful magical object –in this case the mirror of Erised, and then split our souls again, making you and the mirror into a horcrux."

“…A HORCRUX?! You made me into a horcrux? Like what that monster Voldemort did to you?!” Teddy demands, feeling nauseous. This can’t be happening. Memory says that his father would never do something so horrible to him, and yet he has, so what’s changed? “Why? Why would you do this to me?” Teddy insists, needing to know.

Eyes still unwaveringly fixed on Teddy’s face, his father curls in on himself and says quietly, “The war took everyone from me, my family, my closest friends, the woman I loved- ” here he pauses, face blank in an obvious attempt to distance himself from the memory, but Teddy knows how much his father had been hurt by losing his Ginny. He isn’t sure if it’s still there after so many years, but a picture of the woman playing quidditch had remained on a shelf in the living room all of Teddy’s life. It was dusty, and hidden behind countless photos of Teddy himself, but it stood there all the same, unmoved.

“…But it also gave me you,” he continues, smiling gently at Teddy, “Since the day you were first put into my arms, I’ve loved you more than anything. You were and still are, the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“When Greyback-,” he stops, hands clenching, causing some of the blood coating them to drip off more rapidly. “I couldn’t lose you too. Not my baby,” he tells Teddy quietly, pressing his forehead to the glass in a futile attempt to get closer. In that moment their eyes meet again and within his father’s haunted green orbs, Teddy sees that two hundred years without him have nearly destroyed his father.

Overwhelmed, tears fill Teddy’s eyes as he takes in the loneliness and desperation practically carved into his father’s visage. He still feels hurt and angry over what’s been done to him, but he just can’t make himself direct that anger at his father when he’s already suffered so much.

“After that day, I spent every waking moment trying to get you back. I’d made a promise to you and I was going to keep it,” Harry says, voice echoing with nearly two centuries of resolve. “We’re so close now Teddy. Just a little longer and I will be able to give you your body back. You won’t be a horcrux afterwards I promise,” Harry swears.

“What are you planning to do?” Teddy asks, wondering anxiously what kind of magic his father is going to perform to give back a physical form. With dawning horror, he realizes that it’s probably going to be magic requiring something similar to the ritual his father just used. 

“We’re going to go back in time for the main item that we need. It ceased to exist around four hundred years ago, so we’re going back to get it,” Harry informs him. Teddy blinks, unsure if he’s hearing this right.

“What? How on earth are you going to get us there?” Teddy asks incredulously.

“I’ve been working with the goblins to build a more powerful version of the time turner, and it’s finally complete,” His father proudly informs him. Smiling brightly he says, “Now that your soul is safely contained, we can be on our way!” Waving a hand he gestures towards Teddy, making the mirror he’s in rise and follow behind an eagerly striding Harry as he turns and makes his way out the door into a long golden hall.

Teddy demands, “Does whatever we’re going back for require anything like that?” Still feeling sickened, Teddy gestures back at the room they came from to emphasize his query.

“I’m not entirely sure, but if it does I’ll try to avoid making a mess while you’re around. I am so, so sorry that you had to see that,” His father apologizes, waving a hand and banishing all of the blood and gore from his person as if just now realizing how terrible it made him seem.

“That’s not why I was asking that. I don’t care about you making a mess; I don’t want you to hurt anyone else for me. Please father!” Teddy pleads. Just because he despised other people didn’t mean he wanted Harry to further sully himself by killing them. More murder would just warp his ill father further. Surely it’d be better if Teddy remained in the mirror where he could watch his father without causing more damage anyway. He couldn’t bear to encourage the ever-growing wreck he’d caused by falling for a cruel woman’s false love.

“I- I can’t promise that. I’m far too close to stop now Teddy,” His father frowns, slowing down to look at him.

“But I don’t want you to! I don’t know how many people you hurt after I died, but this has to stop. _You_ need to stop!” Teddy insists, trying to get through to him. How will his father ever heal if he continues on the wretched path Teddy unknowingly sent him on.

“I can’t,” Harry says softly, apologetically. His eyes plead with Teddy to understand, but Teddy doesn’t want to; knows without a doubt that he’s never been worth Harry staining his soul over. Sighing, his father raises a hand towards him, and Teddy has a moment to blink and feel a trickle of trepidation as the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's another revamped piece- but wait! There's more! Now you can head for the third chapter and be prepared for shocking, horrifying fun times- like usual! ^_^


	3. Down The Rabbit Hole We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO NOT READ THIS UNLESS YOU'VE ALREADY RE-READ CHAPTERS 1 & 2!! Updates and changes have been made, so go check that shit out please! :)
> 
> This gets deep dark and distressing folks… but don’t worry, there are a lot of pleasant surprises for the lovely characters as well! Enjoy the new twists and turns and know that I plan to get the next chapter up hopefully within the next few weeks ^_^
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own ideas
> 
> Warnings: Lots of violence, and cursing. Mentions of non-con ahead, fair warning. Slash in later chapters.

* * *

  ** _June 23, 1940_ **

* * *

  _‘I'm going to die here,'_ Tom Riddle dreads hollowly, curling as deeply into the muddy corner of Wool’s shadowed front stoop as he can despite his grievous injuries.

Outside the wrought iron gates of the orphanage, the inhabitants of London flee through pouring rain in a frenzy from a deadly combination of Nazi bombers, and the Dark Lord; Gellert Grindelwald himself. Before today, Tom had fantasized allying with the powerful wizard.

He realizes now how foolish those dreams were. To Grindelwald, he is no better than the barbaric muggles he dwells amongst. A parasite. A filthy little cockroach. The muggles hold him in no higher regard.

* * *

_**Flashback** _

* * *

Tom and the other orphans are outside for some mandatory ‘fresh air’. In other words, Mrs. Wool’s excuse to ignore them for hours on end as she drinks herself into a stupor. He’s sitting at the very edge of the yard, leaning against the gates absorbed in reading a book on runes, and taking notes as needed for the upcoming school year. Very few notes actually -having an eidetic memory he rarely finds he needs them.

A loud gurgling sound interrupts his studies. It’s been three days now that he’s been back at the orphanage, and already his stomach has begun to voice its complaints, much to Tom’s embarrassed exasperation. Over the next two months, all the weight he’s managed to put on at Hogwarts will disappear, leaving little more than skin and bones, especially with the muggle war going on. The Matrons have been rationing and hoarding what little food they have like goblins with their gold.

Tom is beginning to give up hope that he’ll ever experience a true growth spurt like his classmates. At fourteen years old, he is a mere one hundred and forty-nine centimeters. If he wasn’t so influential more of his magical peers might have mocked him for it. As it is, he’s still had to punish a few foolish Gryffindors. The muggle orphans like to taunt and mock him for many things, but most suffer the same diminished height as he does.

Clenching his book angrily, he tries to ignore the burning ache in his abdomen and study. His knowledge is one of the few things he can take pride in at Hogwarts. Whereas most of his peers in Slytherin are content knowing that they will always be both _purebloods_ and financially above everyone else, all Tom has ever had besides second-hand school supplies and an abandonment complex is his mind… and a marvelously vast magical core.

Smirking, Tom remembers fondly the first month of his second year of Hogwarts. He had just gotten back from Wools, and was making his was through the common rooms to join everyone at the beginning of the year feast, when he’d been cornered by Crabbe, Goyle -and their ring leader at the time, Felix Carrow. Of all the things he dislikes about Hogwarts, having his peers mock and curse him just for existing, for not having _pure_ blood being the orphaned mudblood scum he is, ranks high on his list.

They did it a lot when he first started his schooling, back when he was still learning the basics. A snigger here, a shove there, and a curse at his back _every, single, time_ he entered the greatly vaunted pureblood dorms of Salazar fucking Slytherin himself. It pissed him off, made him study harder, prepare himself until he could reflect each and every curse back on the caster. Most of them learned to leave him be quickly enough once their curses and jinxes started missing their mark.

Even when he was suffering at the hands of his peers however, it was always an improvement to his previous living arrangements. His classmates never appreciated school like Tom did, didn’t understand what a privilege it was to be in such a place when many of them had wanted for nothing in their spoiled little lives. At Hogwarts he was allowed -no, _expected_ , to eat three times a day. He was also able to learn new exciting things for the entire day, and sleep in a bug free bed that’s softer than any fabric his underprivileged hands had ever touched. They were always so pleasantly warm, unlike the orphanage during winter. The ceilings didn’t even leak!

Tom could go on and on about all the seemingly little things he treasures about Hogwarts. The dorms never smell, his clothes though still hand me down are always clean and wrinkle free –he even has hot water to bathe in whenever he pleases! So sure, the other kids don’t like him, and they do pick on him occasionally, but no one beats him bloody here, or shuts him away in the attic! Plus, if he does get injured, the nurse is happy to tend to him.

He does his best to avoid troubling nurse though, so when Felix and his thugs had moved to stand in his way, Tom hadn’t waited for them to strike first. Hunger from an entire summers worth of starvation burning a hole in his sunken gut, he’d drawn his wand in front of the entire common room and lashed out wordlessly. The trio is blasted into the wall behind them where they stick, and sink into the surface.

When they’d started screaming, he’d pushed more power into his spell and shoved them so far into the wall that they could scarcely breathe, let alone summon the air to shout and alert someone outside the commons.

Rage and hunger the likes of which these spoiled brats had never known eating him alive, Tom had stared deep into Felix Carrow’s gasping red face and said coldly, “The next time you so much as look oddly in my general direction, it won’t be a wall that I push you into. No, you can be sure that the next time I push one of you dimwits, it’ll be off a set of moving stairs.”

He left them like that.

For the rest of the evening and all the way up to the first class of the semester they had remained there, a warning to all that Tom was not to be trifled with. The teachers realized they were missing eventually and sent someone after them. By the time they were able to release the three sobbing and wheezing snakes from Tom’s spell, none of them would dare admit who’d done it. They were probably too ashamed that a filthy mudblood like Tom had so easily bested them.

He’s always known he was more powerful than all of his schoolmates. It had been so easy to cow the Slytherin’s once he’d finally put his foot down with Carrow’s crew. After that day, Abraxas Malfoy had gone from ignoring him, and sneering when they crossed paths to courteous nods and even pointing him to some useful texts when they’d seen one another in the library. They aren’t quite friends, but Malfoy seems to respect his power now. He’s even suggested that perhaps Tom came from something worthy a few times now, but never offered to help Tom find such roots.

Tom doesn’t know what he hopes to find really. He hates muggles, but the bloodlines have clearly gone stagnant. Crabbe and Goyle barely have a brain cell between the two, and they aren’t the only ones in the Slytherin commons who might as well be squibs for all the magic they can cast. It’s sad, but the upper class refuses to recognize such faults within themselves.

None of them wish to acknowledge that their inbreeding will lead to extinction.

That’s why Tom very much doubts that he’s the product of two purebloods. Besides Abraxas, who appears to be an exception to the rule, many pureblood pairings typically lead to sub standard progeny. Sometimes he does fantasize that like Abraxas, he’s an exception to the rule, but his power far outstrips the blonde. It has a weight to it that only he himself and a few of the half bloods and muggleborns have.

Tom doesn’t really like thinking he’s one of them, if only because they lack the traditions, the respect that all pureblood seem to have for magic despite the madness their inbreeding is causing. He’s heard that not too long before he arrived they used to celebrate things in the magical way. Now the mud bloods whinging has them all celebrating _muggle_ holidays. Holidays Tom himself never got to partake in being the poor orphan he is, but they seem laughable.

A fat man coming down a chimney to bring toys? How ludicrous.

The only other downside to Hogwarts is that bloody transfigurations professor. Oh how he hates Dumbledore… But he refuses to let one man stop him from becoming the greatest wizard of all time. Someday he’s going to become better than the great man Merlin himself, and will be renowned for his talents far and wide. He wants to learn every kind of magic, and then use his gifts to create a place where wizards and muggles are well and truly separated- so they can live in peace.

In his future community there will of course be places for orphans like himself to live and grow up. Tom will be damned if he lets any more magical children be stuck in muggle orphanages with a lower form of humanoid that cannot possibly coexist with their betters. Throughout history, more evolved creatures have always killed off their predecessors.

This is simply a fact of life, one of the few valuable pieces of information he learned at muggle primary school. He felt greatly, that this applied to himself. That he was one of, if not the first, of a new, far more superior version of man. It helped him to see himself in a more positive manner, knowing that he wasn’t a ‘demon’, or a ‘freak’- he was just… better.

Mrs. Green was fired shortly after that lecture, what with evolution being a touchy subject to the more religious families his classmates belonged to. Tom never forgot her though, the underappreciated woman who brought him some peace of mind.

A distant boom interrupts his reflections. As several slightly louder explosions sound off, accompanied by a very loud siren nearby, tension fills his stunted young body.

The courtyard empties rapidly, the other children screaming and rushing to get inside as the sky darkens. Tom, having paused to gather his things to put them in his bag, stands quickly and hurries across the yard through the now drizzling rain to join them. Martha, one of the workers, stands looming in the doorway, lined face pale but grimly determined as she ushers the kids inside. Beside her, Billy Stubbs a freckly snub-nosed boy who takes joy in tormenting Tom smirks at him. He’s holding and stroking that stupid white rabbit one of his relatives sent him again.

That bunny wasn’t a gift, despite what Stubbs insists. It was a poor attempt at dismissing any lingering guilt that loaf’s relatives might have had over not taking Billy in after his parents died. Tom had felt so disgusted when he’d seen the rabbit that he’d slipped and told the boy quite bluntly, that that stupid pet, that wretched animal no one here could possibly afford to feed, meant he was never leaving this place. Billy isn’t good looking in any way, and has no skills to boast of. Why would anyone want such a child?

Billy has hated Tom ever since. Some people can’t handle the truth. They prefer the pretty pleasing lies Tom tells them, so easily manipulated by a kind word even if it’s a false one. Yes, Tom can see now that he should have just ignored the boy, but he’d been so furious at the false kindness others had given the dumb boy who was too stupid to know better that he’d just snapped.

He had felt bad for the boy who would get his hopes up and then fall to pieces when he realized the truth. That no one would ever want him, ever truly love him, when he himself was worthless. He’d wanted to crush that spark of hope before it was too late and it was all Stubb’s was relying on to get through the day. Hope, Tom had realized at a very young age, was dangerous to have. It could kill you if you weren’t careful, and Billy wasn’t being very careful at all.

Unable to watch such a cruelty progress to the point that Billy killed himself, Tom had done his best to crush it quickly. With cruel cutting words, he’d made sure Stubb’s knew the truth; sure that he was doing what could be considered ‘the right thing’ by the general populace. Someday the boy would realize that Tom had been helping him and all would be well… Or so he’d thought.

Now he feels a deep regret, because he had been quite foolish in trying to help the ungrateful lump and now he would pay for it. He’s been paying for his words over the years, merely feeling rage at Billy’s escalating bullying in response to the one and only time he’s ever tried to reason with another human being to help them out. Tom doesn’t help anyone but himself now, but it’s too late to take back what he said to Billy.

“Billy tells me you’ve been up to your _freakish_ ways again,” Martha spits, looking at him with fear and disgust as she bars him from entry. When Tom was very little, he’d openly talked to the snakes that would seek him out, not thinking anything of it. He’d befriended a tiny little garden snake, which Martha had smacked to death with a broom before turning on Tom himself. She’d beat him black and blue with it for ‘channeling demons’, and then locked him in the belfry for several days.

He hadn’t dared speak to a snake in her presence ever again. Not that it matters when Billy has clearly been whispering in her ear and telling her who knows what sorts of lies.

“Every time I turn my back, you’re summoning up more demons to torment us,” she frets, glaring between him and the stormy clouds above. Dark skies begin to pour, soaking Tom’s second hand bag and clothes. “I won’t have you in here on this, our darkest of days. You’ll draw those damned Nazi’s here and you- you’ll live of course, you wretched hell-spawned monsters always do, but I have to worry about the others!”

Looking quite mad indeed to Tom whose blood has all gone from his face, she vehemently insists, “The children will be safe inside and once the Nazis are gone you can come back, but until then, be gone demon!” The last thing Tom sees through the closing door is Billy waving the rabbits hand at him mockingly, before it slams in his disbelieving face and is bolted shut. For a moment Tom can’t feel anything, only hear his heart racing in his ears as cold, harsh reality makes itself known.

They’ve left him out here to die. They left him out here, and if he stays outside, there isn’t a doubt in Tom’s mind that he’s _going to die_. His wand, his only possible salvation, is up in his room, locked away in his magically protected suitcase for safekeeping and far beyond Tom’s reach.

‘ _I don’t want to die!_ ’ Tom thinks, horrified to realize his eyes are watering and his hands are shaking as he raises them to desperately beat on the locked door, the sound drowned out by a concussive blast nearby.

“No… No no no-LET ME IN!! PLEASE LET ME IN!” He screams. The world wobbles and tilts at the same time adrenaline begins thumping through his veins, pushing any rational thoughts aside. He drowns in fear. Wheezing in panicked gasps of air, Tom continues to beg; hoping someone inside will heed his desperate cries for mercy.

Over and over and over he beats his fists against the thick wooden door, never noticing when his hands begin leaving red prints that are just as quickly washed away in the downpour. He cries, he begs, he pleads, but not one of the many people inside answer. He spends the next hour this way, relentlessly pleading and pounding. Perhaps he would have continued to try, had the office across the street not exploded.

Debris flies at him, the orphanage gate stopping the biggest hunks of the former building from reaching Tom, but something does make it through, and punches into his leg, sending him tumbling off the front stoop. He falls to the ground with a thud, landing face first in murky water that fills his school bag and jars whatever object is stuck in his leg. He screams in agony, choking on dirty water while clutching at his injured limb. Forcing himself raise his head from the water to look through blurry watering eyes, he sees that his leg has been impaled by a piece of steel rebar.

This is the straw that breaks the camels back.

A fiery rage builds within Tom, all the injustices he’s suffered over the last hour dissolving any and all of the foolish notions he’d held of ever expecting to find mercy from a species not his own. Like he’s always suspected, the muggles will never accept him. They fear the unknown and revile the different- he will never find any of their supposed _humanity_ directed at himself. They could always tell that he wasn’t like them and loathed him for it.

He wonders how long they’ve wished for him to die, and feels such bitter, fiery hatred as he’s never felt in his miserably short life. For the first time, Tom really, truly, wishes that they would all just _die_. He resolves that if he lives through this -if he somehow survives this…

‘ _I will kill them **all**!_ ’ Tom swears, attempting to raise himself further from the filthy puddle he’s collapsed so pitifully into. He’s forced to stop as something pushes against the rebar sticking out of him, drawing a pained scream from his lips. Sobbing through the burning ache, Tom makes himself twist onto his side so his hip rests against the ground, unable to sit properly lest he make the wound worse.

‘ _Each and every one of those fucking **muggles** will suffer before I allow them to die_ ,’ Tom promises, resolving to never beg for the help of a muggle again in his life. No, he’s learned his lesson. He can see them, peering through the windows and looking gleefully down at him, believing that he’s already on his deathbed. Determination filling him to show these pests no more weakness, he straitens and makes sure each and every one of them watching receives a deadly glare- his solemn oath to them.

‘ _Someday you will pay for this._ ’ Tom pushes into the minds of all who dare meet his suffering gaze. Their eyes widen with fear, the disgusting creatures pulling their flimsy curtains shut to hide from his ominous gaze.

Another explosion rocks the ground near him. Terrified, he shields his head in a feeble attempt to protect himself from flying debris. Through the rain and smoke he sees what looks like flashes of light- _magical light_ coming from down the road and stiffens, knowing that such a thing shouldn’t be here. He can also hear screams and battle cries… It becomes increasingly obvious as the large dueling group draws nearer, that Tom’s day has just gotten impossibly worse.

An epic battle between Gellert Grindelwald’s men and the Aurors is happening right down the road and drawing closer.

* * *

  _ **Flashback End** _

* * *

Now Tom is stuck here until he either bleeds out or Grindelwald’s men draw close enough to Avada Kedavra the dying orphan shaking and sitting helplessly in a fucking puddle.

Soaked to the bone and sitting in the now murky red puddle, he is confronted with a truly terrible realization; without his wand, he is nothing. He has no power, and is just as weak as the muggles he despises even after _three years_ of training at Hogwarts. He's so absolutely terrified and repulsed in this moment that he feels sick.

Feeling foolish, but unable to help himself he wishes desperately for _someone, anyone_ to come and save him.

A massive quake starts up throughout London, and Tom looks around warily to see what new curse is causing the whole city to tremble. Not too far away from him now stands Grindelwald, who appears to either not have noticed him, or just cares more about the massive hole tearing through the stormy skies above them. Merlin he hopes the Dark Lord doesn’t spot him, the pathetic wreck that he is now, practically primed and prepared to be Avada’d like the sitting duck he bloody well knows he is.

Thunder roars as if the clouds are filled with raging dragons; lightning flashing like the curses' being cast down below. Instead of crashing into the ground however, the bolts all appear to be flying towards a black hole widening at the storm's epicenter. Every blinding arc is absorbed by the black, which then widens and flares vibrant green.

"What fearsome beast have you summoned my Lord?" A masked follower asks, seeming anxious as he looks to Grindelwald. Even the Aurors have paused to watch the skies in terror, every one of them waiting to see what new hell is being brought to the battlefield.

"This enchantment isn't mine…" Grindelwald says slowly, staring transfixed as the green lightening begins coiling inward. That's all Tom needs to hear before he's crushing himself tightly to the wall and praying to anything listening to spare his life. Whatever is coming, it's a powerful unknown, and Tom doesn't want to be in its way, but he can’t leave the stoops shadowy corner, both because of his punctured leg and the fact that if he so much as breathes wrong the Dark Lord might notice him. Staying still and silent, he watches the swirling vortex with mounting fear.

Just as the eerie light coalesces within the black hole's center, a beam of blinding light blasts downward with an earth-shattering boom. The pure energy in the beam is _so_ powerful it dissolves any and all debris before it can explode outward, and evaporates the water near it, creating a thick fog. All unstable buildings nearby collapse, adding to the chaos. As the mist obscuring everyone's view begins to settle, the air begins to feel heavy with power.

Stiffening, Tom feels a strangely compelling pull to seek out the source of it. It feels familiar -like he should know this power because it resonates with his own magic, calling to him. It’s tempting, like a siren, urging him closer, but Tom can’t stand, let alone move towards it.

The power doesn't just call out to him.

"NO!" Grindelwald shouts, startling Tom's enraptured attention away from the blast zone in time to see the man's wand go flying towards the steaming crater, crumbling as it draws closer to the mists until it is nothing more than dust. "My hallow…" Grindelwald chokes, devastation etched across his face.

Tom has a brief moment to wonder at the strange name Grindelwald chose for his wand before his attention, along with everyone else's is drawn back to the crackling pit as a sudden chill fills the rubble-ridden area. Slow, icy wind swirls about the street, thinning the mist until an outline becomes visible. A single hand, pale as a corpse's, and gleaming with power rises through the fog. With a swift slash it cuts through the steam, sending it billowing away.

A long, shimmering emerald cloak flows gently around the stranger's feet as they step cautiously forward. Long dark hair sways away from a pale face, as the man takes another surer step away from the pit, revealing eyes the color of death. The inhuman gaze seems to despair as it takes in the streets, searching for something. With a wave of his hand the beautiful stranger casts a tempus, then stares at the date as if it's broken his heart.

From behind the strange man comes another. An ill looking older male with sharp features in potions master robes staggers out of the dissipating mists behind the beauty, a grim expression appearing as he too reads the date. Tom wonders why such a strange thing has affected them so.

"You'll pay for what you've done!" Grindelwald bellows, drawing the duo’s attention. Angrily, the Dark lord flings a curse at the younger man using a second wand he'd had stowed up his sleeve.

_'How clever,'_ Tom notes, waiting dispassionately for the deathly pale wizard to drop. He's barely started pondering what he’ll do if the two strangers don’t distract Grindelwald from his slow meandering towards himself, when he sees the emerald-eyed stranger hold up a pitifully useless hand and – ** _blocks the Dark Lord’s curse wandlessly!_**

Tom blinks, and gapes as the ominous dark red bolt Grindelwald sent collides with and rolls over an invisible bubble around the dark haired pair before dissipating. The greasy haired older man then draws forth a wand, and gives a sharp swish with it, wordlessly sending a group of razor sharp slashes of power towards the Dark Lord. Grindelwald dodges almost all of them, but one rips viciously through his bicep while the others hit the ground and gouge out deep pits. It’s pretty impressive, but Tom can perform quite a few wordless spells. No, what Tom is really dazzled by is the bitter looking man’s partner, casually wielding _wandless magic_!

Tom stares at the man in awe. He’s never seen wandless magic before, let alone used so casually. Although not quite as awe inspiring, he was impressed by the unfamiliar slashing hex the dour faced man used. Grindelwald on the on the hand doesn’t seem impressed at all, just supremely pissed as he points his wand at the older of the two, green light gathering at the tip. The beautiful man reacts instantly.

Tom blinks at the empty spot where Peverell had been standing, then whips his head around just in time to see him reappear next to Grindelwald, snarl, “HEY!” and punch the Dark Lord clear across the street. He slams into a building nearby, rubble raining down on his fallen form. The Aurors begin cheering, enraging Grindelwald’s followers who begin attacking once more. The Aurors begin more and more clearly getting a leg up on the followers, riding the high of the beauty’s victory.

The greasy man brushes dust off his robes and stalks up to the younger man, both now within Tom’s hearing range and scowls, “Po-Peverell! I had that handled. I don’t need you meddling in my affairs –you’ve done enough of that already.”

“Says the man who’s been meddling with mine all my life. I didn’t bring you here to die-” Peverell begins with a huff, looking affronted.

‘ _What a perfectly unique name_ ,’ Tom thinks, wishing to call out so that he can gain the man’s attention. Perhaps to play on whatever pity or sympathy he can in order to gain a hold on the beauty. Unfortunately, he’s well aware that with the battle still raging it wouldn’t be wise to announce his presence just yet. Not that he has much to lose at this point… If he doesn’t receive aid soon he’s going to bleed to death.

Knowing it’s useless, he does his best to ignore the mounting terror and frustration he feels. Pretending he truly believes he has a future past this day, he continues staring into the lovely indignant face of a man he can already tell will be his newest obsession, and hopes desperately, ‘ _Let me hear the rest of your name so I might find you anywhere…_ ”

“And why on earth _did_ you decide to bring me here?”

“…I didn’t really think too much on it- it just felt right. I owe your grumpy arse,” Peverell says solemnly.

“Taking care of you is my _job_. If you owe me, the least you can do is make it a little bit easier on me, and quit rushing headfirst into danger like and impulsive loon!” the grouchy man snarls.

Peverell flashes the man a fond smile as he says, “You say the sweetest things Severus.” The older man hunches and cringes from the younger with clear disdain, unknowingly drawing Tom’s ire. He wonders how quickly he can redirect those looks from the unappreciative old git towards himself. Grindelwald bursting angrily through the rubble intrudes on his silent plotting. Limping furiously and shaking clumps of wet ash from his dripping golden locks, he makes his way towards Peverell who looks entirely un-phased. Tom can't tear his eyes away.

As Grindelwald draws near, he sneers, looking down his nose at the pale man despite being worse for wear, "You dare challenge me? Who do you think you are?!"

"Ah, how rude of me not to introduce myself," the beauty mockingly quips, smirking maliciously as he begins his introductions, Tom paying rapt attention, "Over there is my, ah- _uncle,_ Severus Snape-”

The greasy haired man gapes and then sends a stinging hex at his nephew, who simply brushes it off.

“-And my name is Hadrian. Hadrian Peverell." Peverell finishes with a shallow mocking bow, rolling his eyes at his uncle’s actions.

The introduction makes Grindelwald freeze and stare at Peverell, looking unsure of himself for a brief moment, but a moment nonetheless. Fascination growing, Tom wonders what's so special about the stranger's name that it's made the Dark Lord pause, even as he eagerly memorizes it. It fits the ebony haired man.

Shrugging off whatever apprehension he'd felt, Grindelwald lifts his wand angrily and grits out, "I don't care who you are boy! What I want to know is how you’re doing any of this when you have no wand!" The Dark Lord distractedly heals himself as he waits for an answer. Tom fervently listens as well, unable to resist leaning as close as he can without revealing himself despite the pain in his throbbing leg.

"I don't need one," Peverell sneers, dismissively. Grindelwald snarls, and then casts a spell into the pouring skies above them. The clouds hiss, and begin raining green tinted droplets that fly directly at Snape and Peverell like tiny little missiles. The younger man doesn’t hesitate to freeze and sharpen the green droplets into long icy needles, sending them soaring back towards Grindelwald who apparates out of their path without injury. His minions and a few of the Aurors aren't so lucky.

The green tint turns out to be a highly corrosive acid of some sort. As the icy needles pierce their unwitting targets and begin to melt, the acid activates and consumes their wailing victims, unaffected by any of the spells they fling at themselves to counter the substance in their final moments. It’s the most gruesome thing Tom’s ever seen. Anything would have been a more merciful a death than that.

**_Anything._ **

Grindelwald, grieved by the loss of his followers, summons up a volley of blades and flings them at Peverell who simply dodges them. They continue flying past him towards Tom, who in a moment of blind terror lets out a blood-curdling scream of his own, sure that this is to be his end. Clenching his eyes shut, too terrified to look death in the face, he uselessly holds his arms up to cover himself and waits… and waits…

When his already unbearable bodily pain ceases to increase, Tom dares to lower his arms. Shaking and weeping pathetically, he dares to open his eyes and sees gleaming soaked green cloth trailing on the ground before his quivering form. Scarcely daring to believe it, he follows the green robes path, up and up until he sees the emerald-eyed wizard hovering protectively over him.

Peverell’s features have a terrible haunted look upon them as he stands still as an immoveable marble statue above him. The look remains for a long moment, in which Tom finds himself unable to turn away.

“PEVERELL!” Snape bellows in warning. Said man whirls from Tom, the look gone as Peverell stands before him and crosses his arms. Rapid cracks fill the air as the appendages shift, bones appearing to bulge outward as skin pulls inward. This leaves Peverell with two horrifyingly massive bony hands tipped with what appear to be claws, and Tom hardly has a moment to take it all in before they catch and reflect an overcharged blasting curse back at the Dark Lord, taking zero damage!

‘ _What the hell was that_?!’ Tom gapes as his surprising savior’s hands revert to the usual human proportions as the man launches himself towards Grindelwald. The last curse appears to have thrown Peverell into a rage, because he lacks much of the finesse of his earlier attacks, and is just lashing out at his foe. The Dark Lord takes advantage of his blind fury, and actually manages to apparate behind Peverell, holding him at wand point. Tom tenses, stomach turning as he realizes that all of that power and knowledge is about to be snuffed out before he's even had a chance to obtain it.

_'What a loss,'_ Tom despairs; wishing that he'd had an opportunity to learn from the powerful wizard. A small part of him mourns, as he realizes he’ll never truly get to meet or thank his hero either.

"It's such a shame that I have to kill you before figuring out how you’re able to cast such powerful magic wandlessly. Any last words?" Grindelwald sneers, then freezes as one of Peverell's hands touch his face.

"I could ask you the same thing," Peverell hisses, hand glowing green as he fearlessly stares down his would be murderer as Tom watches with relief and awe. The air seems to thicken with tension the longer the silent impasse lasts. Tom doesn't know who's going to win this battle of wills, but despite knowing Grindelwald's track record, he's willing to bet on the powerful unknown wizard. There's a fire in his eyes, a determination and life to them that refuses to be snuffed out.

"Why have you sided with those filthy mud bloods anyway? You're like me aren't you? Pure, powerful… Not tainted with muggle filth like them," Grindelwald sneers, using his free hand to gesture to where Tom’s soaked form is sprawled.

Lip curling, Tom sneers right back at his former idol, silently realizing, _'He's not the great man that I believed him to be if he can't recognize the greatness in me.'_ As if agreeing with Tom, Peverell apparates behind Grindelwald, and grips him firmly by the back of his neck with a glowing hand.

Tom can hear the conviction in every word as Hadrian states firmly, "Magic is magic. Some people have it, others don't. It doesn't matter where it comes from, as long as you have it, and that kid over there has it in spades. You must be magically incompetent if you can’t sense his potential from over here." Tom has never heard such sincere praise in his life. It touches him deeply in a way he's never felt before and he wants more. He craves it along with the promise of power that Peverell emanates, and what Tom wants, he always ensures that he gets.

‘ _If I live long enough_ ,’ Tom’s subconscious points out as he realizes that his vision is getting a little wobbly.

Grindelwald looks at Tom’s broken body with consideration for a brief moment, as if entertaining the idea, then snorts dismissively and glares back at Peverell.

"That boy could never hope to reach our level, but it's useless telling you this because you've already chosen your side," Grindelwald scoffs, enraging Tom with every casual insult he aims at his already battered pride. Looking over his shoulder at Peverell, the blonde demands, "Now quit stalling and finish this. You’ve won this day, but if you show me mercy know this; I _won't_ show the same when I return."

Tom watches cool resolution fill Peverell's eyes as he tightens his sickly green grip around the Dark Lords neck. Tom waits breathlessly, eager to see what a wandless Avada Kedavra looks like.

“Peverell! Stop this foolishness immediately,” commands the deep voice of the sallow man, who up to this point had been watching the deadly foray from the sidelines but has apparated to stand next to Peverell once more. “A lifetime in Azkaban is all this will bring you. What good will you be able to do your son then?”

‘… _Son?_ ’ Tom thinks, bitter longing tearing at the remains of his heart.

Several loud snaps fill the air as if confirming the older man’s words. Tom frowns disappointedly as he sees that the Aurors have joined them, their wands pointed at the two titans who turned Hogsmead to rubble.

"Sir, please release the war criminal into Ministry custody!" The scarred man in the lead shouts, cautiously approaching the duo. A reluctant looking Peverell allows him close enough to place magic nullifying cuffs on Grindelwald, and then attempts to back away. Just before Peverell is completely out of reach, Grindelwald whirls and lunges towards him, biting deeply into his lip. Shocked silence fills the street as the two powerhouses glare one another down until Grindelwald grins dementedly at Peverell, licking the other man's blood.

"After carefully reconsidering my stance, I’ve come to the conclusion that I was overtly hasty in my dismissal of you… Azkaban won't be an issue for _me,_ so while I’m away, please do consider my generous offer of a mutually beneficial partnership between the two of us. In case I haven’t made myself quite clear, allow me to be blunt: upon my return I shall be pursuing your hand with the hopes of forming a life bond with you. Yes, you can plan on seeing me very soon spitfire," Grindelwald breathes against Peverell’s scowling swollen mouth. He leers confidently at Peverell who looks entirely un-amused.

So un-amused an instant later a sharp crack fills the air as he breaks Grindelwald's cheekbone with his fist. The Aurors seeing this finally snap into action and drag Grindelwald away as the Dark Lord viciously curses and then starts laughing as if Peverell is being funny. A silencing spell is placed on Grindelwald just before he is apparated away by some of the nervous Aurors. The scarred head Auror and his remaining team members approach an irritated Peverell and his sour faced uncle cautiously, and then their leader extends his hand.

"I don't know who you are, or what possessed you two to face down the Dark Lord all on your own, but you've both stopped a madman that we had no hope of defeating, and in doing so have saved countless lives. On behalf of the entire wizarding world, I thank you, Mr.…?"

"Hadrian Peverell, Lord of the ancient and powerful house of Peverell," he replies, shaking the offered hand once firmly. Tom is definitely going to be looking up that bloodline in the near future.

The same hand is then offered to the hook nosed man who reluctantly grasps it once as he imperiously intones, “Severus Snape.”

"Gerald Abbott," the Auror introduces himself, and then says, "I'd greatly appreciate it if you could accompany me to the ministry Lord Peverell. We need to get a statement from you and the minister will want to give you a proper thank you. It's not every day that Grindelwald is defeated after all!"

For a moment Peverell and Snape’s eyes widen as if genuinely surprised, and then their faces go completely blank.

"...Perhaps this could wait a few hours?" Peverell finally suggests, a charming smile curling his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. “My uncle and I had plans for the day and they’ve been rather mucked up thanks to all this.” Thin lips sneer yet again at the word uncle.

‘ _Clearly the older man doesn’t appreciate the reminder that he and Peverell are related,_ ’ Tom muses, frowning at the thought.

"Well, you did save the wizarding world… I suppose asking for a bit of rest before we grill you isn’t unreasonable," Abbott decides, looking relieved that he isn't going to completely refuse.

Nodding his thanks, Peverell watches the Aurors go down the street to begin collecting the remains of their fallen comrades, then turns to his scowling uncle. Tom gets the feeling that pleasant emotions aren’t something the dark robed man does. Grievously injured and unable to move, Tom watches the most powerful wizard he’s ever seen motion for his uncle to take his arm and feels despair as he realizes that Peverell, is about to leave. Not only that, but he’s one of the only people still close enough to hear Tom if he calls out for help.

The unparalleled wizard who defeated the dark lord and saw potential in him is going to leave without Tom ever having introduced himself. Bleeding out in a filthy puddle in muggle London, he can’t imagine a worse fate than dying here and never truly exchanging a word with the man his very core is longs for.

With dwindling energy, he desperately screams, “WAIT!”

For a moment, Tom thinks that the man didn’t hear him and that he’ll continue on his way, but then Peverell stops. Whirling around the man takes in his broken, bedraggled form, and then speedily stalks towards Tom, his confused companion keeping pace. If Tom had any tears left he might have wept with relief -as it is his eyes merely burn with the need to shed some.

‘ _Surely, with him at my side I’ll survive_ ,’ Tom thinks, all the overwhelming fear he’d felt finally abating as Peverell kneels at his side to look him over.

“Healing spells are your specialty Severus… I can banish the pole, but how quickly do you think you’ll be able to stop the bleeding afterwards?” Peverell demands, looking at the puddle beneath Tom with concern.

“He’ll need a blood-replenishing potion first,” Snape frowns, pulling a vial containing a rust red liquid from his robes and handing it to Peverell who thanks him for it then turns back to Tom.

“I need you to take this so we can fix you up properly,” says the beauty, far more lovely up close than he’d been at a distance. Knowing that none of what is about to follow will be pleasant, Tom takes the potion and reluctantly downs it, feeling his veins swell with an excess of blood. Vision no longer blurring, his eyes lock onto the most startling shade of green he’s ever beheld. Gritting his teeth, he braces himself as best he can. Peverell offers a slender hand insistently, surprising him.

“Hold on as tightly as you need,” he orders, waiting for Tom to do so. Tom desperately wants to comply, drawn as he is to the man, but his hands aren’t in very good shape either. In fact, now that Tom’s thinking about them, they’re burning quite badly. Embarrassed, Tom show’s Peverell the results of his earlier foolishness, truly ashamed that this amazing man is seeing at him in his lowest, most pitiful shape.

‘How must I look to him?’ he despairs, waiting for a reaction to the revealing that he is in an even more pathetic state than he’d first appeared. He wonders bitterly how he’s meant to impress Peverell after showing such vulnerability. Snape hisses at the sight of his fingers, looking angry.

Meanwhile, Peverell takes in his mangled bloody hands, and with his expression carefully blank, drawls slowly, “What on earth is a young man like you doing outside on a day like this? It isn’t safe. You should be inside, with your family-”

“I don’t have one.” Tom snaps, looking away so he won’t have to see the pity in either one of the men’s eyes. Pointing behind himself he reluctantly explains, “This is where I stay during the summer. I would have been inside with the other orphans but…” A dark look passes over his face as he dwells on the muggles who left him out here in the hopes that he’d die and take his freakishness with him.

Summoning up all of his courage, he looks at Peverell, determined to sneer if he sees the slightest bit of pity- and finds stone cold rage carved upon the lovely face.

Softly, gently despite his obvious anger, the man asks, “Did they leave you out here?”

"…They think if I stay out here that they’ll be safe," Tom admits, paling. Some of the mind numbing fear from earlier creeps in as he recalls how uselessly he’d beat on that door. He really doesn’t know why he’s telling the man all this, it just feels right. A hand reaches towards him, and Tom, still tense from the events that occurred this afternoon instinctively flinches back. Peverell pauses, looking miserably upset, and Tom, realizing that the man isn’t going to hurt him feels guilty even though he doesn’t understand why.

Instinctively sensing that it will alleviate some of the guilt his unintended flinch has caused, he leans towards Peverell and waits almost eagerly, curious. Slowly, cautiously, the man reaches towards Tom again, and pulls him into his arms. The moment Peverell hugs him, Tom feels a painful tearing from deep within himself, along with a sudden painful release of pressure in his leg he knows is from the rebar being removed. Screaming with anguish into the broken streets of London, Tom collapses into the agonizing embrace.

Luckily a soothing warmth which fills his entire being, radiating through him from the arms clasped gently around his smaller body, quickly overwhelms the pain. Instinctively seeking further relief, he uses his good leg to force his body closer, and buries his face in Peverell’s chest. Tom wants to bask in this feeling for all of eternity, knows he’s shamelessly clinging to the man.

He’s done many things he isn’t proud of today, but unlike everything else; this isn’t one he’ll regret. Not when he’s feeling such warmth inside for the first time in his life.

“You’re doing so good… The metal is out; all that’s left is cleaning and healing the wound. Just take a few deep breaths and it’ll all be over,” Peverell promises him gently rubbing his quivering back. Bewildered and breathless, Tom opens eyes that he was unaware he'd closed and stares up into Peverell's concerned and slightly amused face.

“ _Terego_ ,” Snape casts. Flinching, Tom looks down at his throbbing leg and tries to squirm away as the area is cleansed, but Peverell holds him still, murmuring soothing nothings into his hair that Tom finds oddly comforting.

A quiet whimper is drawn from him as the older man then chants, “ _Vulnera Sanentur_ ,” thrice. The first slows Tom’s gushing blood, the second forces his wound to push out any remaining debris, and the third makes his wound fully heal, pushing itself closed but leaving a perfectly circular scar on Tom’s thigh. He wonders if another mark will remain on the back of his leg where the rebar went clean through.

“The wound has sealed up nicely, but the tissue is still quite new so you’ll need to stay off your feet for a few hours at least. Unfortunately, I don’t have any dittany, so the mark will remain- not a problem when it comes to using the limb, just a simple blemish if one was overtly concerned about appearances,” Snape confirms for him somewhat apologetically. Tom can’t even be bothered to care about a pink circle on his leg. He has plenty other scars and this certainly isn’t the worst one. He’s alive, and that’s really all that matters.

Seeing the greasy man gesture to his remaining injuries, Tom, with Peverell’s help, turns so the man can have better access to his battered hands. A few episkeys and interesting smelling ointments later and they’re good as new too. Flexing his un-swollen digits, he basks in the lack of pain throughout his body.

"Thank you," Tom breathes, staring gratefully up at the men –admittedly mostly Peverell whom he’s still leaning into heavily. "You’ve saved my life."

Peverell nods and replies sincerely, "It was no trouble, I'm just glad that you're alright." Snape inclines his head in agreement. A quiet boom in the distance makes Tom flinch, all positive thoughts fading as he realizes he’s still stuck outside until the sirens stop wailing. Peverell appears to have a similar train of thought, turning to glare at the bolted front door.

Gently moving Tom off of himself, Peverell stands and smiles emptily at him as he says, “Wait here with Severus. I’ll be right back…” then stomps up the front steps of Wool’s, blasting the door in and drawing shrieks of mortal terror as he bursts inside.

“Po-Peverell! Get back here you impulsive brat! Don’t you dare follow through with whatever hair-brained idea you’ve come up with now!” Snape bellows, looking like he wants to dash after his wayward nephew but doesn’t want to leave Tom by himself when he still can’t walk even though he feels like he could.

This means he and a pacing Snape are stuck outside, listening to what sounds like a muffled screaming match between Peverell and a terrified Mrs. Wool. Tom stares blankly at the door wondering how he's going to get that strange warmth Peverell gave him back. He wants to feel that it again almost as much as he wants to know the secret to wandless magic. Of course first he’ll have to survive the rest of the summer at Wools…

Trembling, Tom’s hands clench at his knees, trying to make himself believe he’ll live to see not only Hogwarts again, but also Peverell -even if he’s accompanied by his snarky Uncle. Eyes burning, he wishes desperately to be anywhere besides this cesspit of muggle scum he was born into. He loathes this place, despises the muggles with every fiber of his being. Tom can confidently say that should he ever have the opportunity to wipe them off the face of this planet he wouldn’t even hesitate.

He disagrees with the purebloods on many things, but after this day, no one will see Tom raise so much as a finger to help a muggle. No, he’d rather watch them all burn than spit on a single one.

Especially _Billy_.

‘ _I’m going to skin that fucking lagomorph. I’m going to skin it alive and hang it from the rafters -let it stay there until it rots and the stink is so nauseating that people will have no choice but to search out the source of it_ ,’ Tom thinks gleefully, picturing the look on Stubb’s face when he eventually looks up and discovers where his precious little pet went. Martha’s punishment he’ll have to think about; he wants to savor it.

He’s weighing different methods of torture when Peverell storms back out through the ruined front door. Tom’s suitcase is floating beside him, and he’s rapidly filling out a sheaf of papers as he argues with Mrs. Wool who seems to be pleading with him, desperate to change the man’s mind.

"I- I'm sorry if you think we’ve been overly harsh Mr. Peverell, but from the time he was young I have had to watch him just in case he decided to lash out at others. That boy was cruel to all of the other children and would steal from them for amusement! Surely you would rather have someone, anyone else?!" She asks flustered, a haze to her eyes that signals she’s been confounded which explains why she is focusing on the floating trunk. Tom wonders what she’s prattling on about, trying to connect the dots so he can understand why she’s being so insistent, and an angry Peverell who’ refusing to acknowledge her has his suitcase.

"That sounds like someone who hasn't had a very good childhood themselves. Ninety-nine percent of the time kids do cruel things after someone else has done terrible things to them. Especially if no one else is around to show them a better way to deal with their problems. You've been treating him like a criminal from day one, but I’m sure he was a victim once upon a time. See I was like him once. An orphan who knew nothing about their parents because they'd died in some stupid war and then was left with people who despised my very existence. If I hadn't met people who were kind to me I know I wouldn't have become a very good man! So no, I don’t want any of the more _normal_ children." Peverell sneers, looking at the older woman with disgust.

"..." Mrs. Wool stares at him in astonishment for a long moment, then looks embarrassed. Tom stares at the two, realization and a tiny spark of hope growing within him as he begins to decipher their conversation. Eyeballing Hadrian, the matron huffs and then grumbles disbelievingly, "You think you can do better?”

“I can certainly do better than you would!” He scoffs, looking down on the woman who’s tormented Tom all his life, shoving the signed stack of papers into her hands. He keeps one of them, tucking it carefully into his robes.

“Well good luck. Take the damned boy and never darken this doorway again. Tom Riddle is yours!” She screams, whirling around with the sheaf of documents to stalk inside. For a moment Peverell stares after her wide eyed, as if something she said has alarmed him, then he turns to Tom, his face entirely blank as he walks over to kneel by him once more. It feels like he’s looking into his very soul.

Heart racing with cautious hope, he stares up at the blank face, wondering if the powerful stranger is really going to take Tom from this place. Anxiously he braces himself to survive the pain he’ll feel should the man change his mind and leave him here to rot. Not looking away from Tom’s wary eyes, the man takes in a deep breath, and he can’t help but tense.

"This isn’t an easy choice for me to make… I actually have another son, though you won't be seeing him much until he's better. Plus Severus and I just moved here so we’ll probably be renting a flat in Diagon Alley for a while, but it can be yours too if you'd like," Peverell offers, extending a hand to him. Tom's jaw actually drops, heart warming, though he’s still leery, waiting for the man to take it all back.

Mouth closing, Tom's eyes narrow as he demands, "I- you mean that?" Peverell nods, hand still offering salvation. Tom feels so much in that moment he can’t decide what emotion is plaguing him most, and gets frustrated with himself when his eyes grow wet. He was sure he’d shed as many tears as his eyes could possibly contain over the last few hours. Blinking back the embarrassing emotional moisture, he reaches out and grips Peverell's hand with all his might, as if daring him to take it back.

He doesn't, just smiles and shakes Tom's ever-tightening hand.

"Surely you can’t be serious!" Snape sputters, flabbergasted at this unexpected turn of events.

"You’re right. Sirius was my Godfather, as you know. Also, my name isn’t Shirley," Hadrian deadpans, a tiny grin directed at the older man who looks like he’s about to have a conniption. Tom doesn’t get the joke.

“You- this isn’t over!” Severus insists, glaring at Hadrian even as he gains a silently resigned look.

“Oh come on Severus, I’m sure you and Tom will get on splendidly,” Peverell says, absentmindedly squeezing Tom’s hand.

Tom feels the comforting grip tighten momentarily around his own, and wonders why he hadn’t noticed when their handshake had turned into handholding. Staring down at the gentle appendages curled around his own, Tom notes that the familiar warmth he’d experienced the last time they’d touched hadn’t been a coincidence. Here again he can sense a connection, addicting and wonderful despite the simplicity of the feeling it instills in him. Or perhaps it’s because of its simplicity that it has struck him so… He doesn’t have a word for what he’s experiencing yet, but he knows that he’d be poorer for it should he never experience it again.

Releasing Tom’s hand, Peverell slides an arm behind him and beneath his legs, easily scooping him up into his arms. Shocked, Tom clings to him, freezing up as he realizes he’s being carried ‘bridal style’. He considers fighting against the hold, but dismisses the idea. He doesn’t want to be left here just because he wouldn’t indulge Peverell- he doesn’t know what lies ahead, but anything must be better than this place. He refuses to come back to this hellhole ever again- even if it means he won’t get to crush that miserable oaf Billy Stubbs.

No, he’ll do anything he must to ensure that Peverell keeps him at his side. Slumping against the man, Tom’s exhausted slate colored eyes meet with turbulent ebony that are staring him down. Seeing Tom returning his gaze, Snape sneers at him and he notes a small glimmer of fear in the dark gaze.

It reminds him of the day Dumbledore showed up at Wools. There was a similar glint of fear in those eyes back then. An instinctive enmity he has only ever encountered from the transfigurations professor.

Until now.

Gaze unwavering from his new silent challenger, Tom wonders what he did in the last few moments to garner such a look. Not that he cares much as long as the older man steers clear. If the he proves to be a problem however, well… Tom will deal with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the renovating continues- hope you all enjoyed it! ^_^ Questions and comments are always greatly appreciated!


	4. Paths Too Dark For One Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came. I wrote. I suffered. Enjoy the blood sweat and tears guys!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own ideas
> 
> Warnings: brief mention of NON-CON!!! Lots of violence, and cursing. Slash in later chapters.

* * *

  ** _June 23, 1940_ **

* * *

 

Clothes still damp and clinging uncomfortably to every inch of his flesh, Tom fights not to squirm in his chair. That would be a sign of weakness, and he refuses to show any more, especially to this man.

Had there not been warming charms placed upon the ridiculously intricate tableware before them, he's sure that both of their dishes would have gone cold long ago. Neither of them have condescended to so much as nudge the silverware lest they become distracted and break the intense stare down they've engaged in, unwillingly submitting to their foe. It's been half an hour since Peverell left him alone with the man's cantankerous uncle at _'Elysium Delights'_ , a highly praised eating establishment for the very upper crust of wizarding society.

Supposedly you have to make reservations three years in advance, but such things clearly didn’t trouble Tom’s new guardian. No, he’d simply waltzed inside the pristine ivory entryway trailing muddy boot prints with Tom still cradled in his arms, and the scowling uncle begrudgingly following. The maître d' had taken one look at the three of them, the sopping wet messes that they were, and he’d looked so scandalized Tom might have laughed if he weren’t feeling so embarrassed.

Peverell hadn’t missed the look, but rather than seeming embarrassed himself, he’d glided over to the man with a sneer of distaste upon his own lips and flashed the employee a very intricate looking azure ring. Said man had taken one look at the jewel and paled, immediately ushering them over to what looked like their best table, falling all over himself to soothe Peverell. He’d made sure they knew that they’d only have the best, and how honored they were to have the Lord visit their establishment.

Peverell had merely peered down at the man and informed him that he would be taking care of business elsewhere for the next few hours while his family remained to enjoy their services. It had been greatly implied that if Snape and Tom didn’t enjoy their service that no one would be happy. The employee had gulped loudly, and shakily assured him that they’d have anything their hearts desired.

It felt like another new piece to the Peverell puzzle had slotted into place. His guardian’s name was widely known and revered, to the point that people would do anything to please him. They didn’t even know that Peverell had just wiped the floor with Gellert fucking Grindelwald, and yet they pandered to him! Tom wondered angrily why he’d never heard the name of such an imposing family before, even as he thanked Merlin for somehow allowing himself to become a part of it.

Determination filled every fiber of his being, the mystery of his guardian increasing the draw Tom felt. He would solve the riddle of Hadrian Peverell, he would know this man from the inside out, and use every bit of his power and knowledge to ensure that the man and his comforting warmth would stay with him -somehow.

After being assured that the staff would cater to their every whim, Peverell had settled Tom into his chair, told Severus to play nice, and then left them there. So here they are, staring one another down in some sort of ridiculous pissing contest that Tom has no interest in playing, and yet he can’t seem to stop himself.

Merlin knows he'd rather be savoring what smells like it could be the most delicious meal he's ever had in his farce of a life outside of Hogwarts -but he can't look away. No, that tastes too much like defeat, and he's suffered enough of that for a lifetime. Snape is bloody well going to look away first or they'll sit here and starve like a couple of morons.

Tom hasn't even done anything to deserve the disparaging scowl being directed his way.

 _'Yet._ ' Tom thinks, sneering back at his greasy new relative and hating that he can't bring himself to be the more mature one and look away. He's starving three inches away from a heavenly smelling feast and it’s grinding at his every last nerve. The elder man's only advantage here is that Tom is completely famished, and he's clearly just peckish.

"...Is the dish not to your liking sirs? I can have the chef prepare something else," the hesitant voice of their server pipes up from beside the silently dueling pair.

"That won't be necessary," Snape grits out, glaring daggers at Tom, neither of them deigning to look at their fretful attendant.

Inwardly groaning, Tom returns the look, hoping that Hadrian will be back soon. A small but growing part of him fears that the man won’t return. Why would he, when in this scenario Tom is just as useless as Stubbs is to his own family? Surprisingly, Snape is the one thing keeping Tom from falling into blind panic at the idea of being abandoned. As long as the greasy haired git remains, Peverell _will_ come back, because though it doesn’t seem to be returned, he likes his uncle.

And so, despite a strange pain in his head, Tom glares harder into the eyes of the lank haired man who’s unknowingly helping him cling to the pathetic hope he has that Peverell won’t just leave him, and waits. Strangely, Snape’s glare suddenly slips, and though Tom’s not sure why, something in the man’s countenance changes from unconcealed loathing to a very reluctant but grudging acceptance. Taking a deep breath, the elder forces himself into a less tense state, then looks Tom over. His eyes don’t seem as harshly critical as they take all of him in, but they are clearly unhappy with something he sees.

Tom stiffens, hating how confusing the man is being, and not quite sure why the game seems to have changed. He won their little glare off, but something about the victory feels hollow, as if he’s lost something instead. It’s infuriating.

“Eat your food.” Snape orders firmly, seemingly done assessing Tom. “You’re far too thin for a twelve year old.”

Tom sputters, and snaps, “I’m fourteen!” Snape scowls, looking him over once more, clearly even more displeased with everything about him.

“That’s _not_ a good thing Mr. Riddle. You’ll need several potions to correct the malnutrition that has quite clearly stunted your growth. We’ll have to stop by the apothecary before settling in to whatever lodgings Peverell acquires for us,” Snape decides, exasperatedly rubbing his brow. Sighing, Snape then pulls his wand out and flicks it at Tom. Tensing, Tom waits for something terrible to happen, wishing he’d gotten his own wand out of the suitcase Peverell had taken with him, only to feel his clothes dry and become spotlessly clean. Blinking, Tom is left floundering with confusion. He wonders if glaring is the way this man shows that he cares, because otherwise this is in the complete opposite direction of where he thought their interaction would lead.

Eye twitching, Tom tries to understand how they got from deathly glares to caring about his health and fails to understand how point A correlates to point B.

‘ _This man must be insane,_ ’ Tom decides, edging back in his chair to put some distance between himself and the loon. Scowling to make it clear that he’s eating because he wants to, not because the man told him to, he picks up one of the many forks before him.

Snape snorts and picks up his own silverware, ignoring Tom to begin cutting into his meal. Looking down to his plate, he carefully picks off a piece of his own dinner: braised short ribs with Swiss chard and polenta. He’d had no idea what they were when he’d chosen them. All the menu had listed off were names of the selections, nothing more. He’d not wanted to look foolish by asking about each and every one, so he’d randomly selected one and hoped for the best.

Cautiously taking a bite of the tender dark meat, he barely manages to hold back a moan of delight. Closing his eyes, he keeps a voracious appetite at bay and makes himself go slow, savoring it as the morsel practically melts in his mouth. Idly he wonders how dessert will taste, even as he’s filled with disbelief that his life has taken such a fantastic turn. Thoroughly distracted by the meal, he’s able to enjoy himself despite the cantankerous company or any and all worries he had.

Neither he nor Snape speak a word more to one another, but it’s a comfortable silence for the first time since they’d arrived. Sighing contently, Tom relaxes and settles more comfortably in his seat, waiting for Peverell to return.

 

* * *

 

Gently cupping the shrunken, deactivated mirror of Erised within his pocket, Hadrian Peverell -formerly known as Harry Potter, glides through the skewed main entrance of Gringotts.

 _‘This has been one of the most disappointing and irritating days in my life,”_ Hadrian grouses, magic flaring as he heads for the nearest available teller. This draws a shiver from the beings nearby as the room’s temperature drops. One or two of the people affected by the chill must be very magically sensitive because they appear to have felt the subtle aggressive spike in Hadrian’s power despite how tightly controlled it is. They seem pretty smart too because those who felt it are looking around apprehensively for the apex predator their instincts sense nearby.

None of them will ever connect Hadrian to the ominous flare up. Vast as his magic is, it’s almost impossible for sensitives to locate him as the true wielder because even though his power is rarely felt, everyone within a ten-mile radius is drowning in it. That’s just when he’s pulling it in a bit. After unwillingly receiving Death’s gifts his magic has been unparalleled. One might even say it’s incomprehensible to the mere mortals he walks amongst.

It’s enormous, but undetectable to most wizards. Only the top point-one percent of the most highly sensitive people can see his feather-light but deadly magic coiling around them with the disinterested malevolence of a satiated Basilisk -merely waiting to feel peckish before striking. Fewer still can then actually identify him as its source. He’s only encountered a handful of witches and wizards who could truly see him in his miserably long life.

Luna had always known- he likes to think she’d been comforted by it, not that it’d done them any good back then. The others- well, that’s another story. One he doesn’t have time to waste dwelling on when he has so much that needs to be dealt with today. For instance, the fact that apparently he’s managed to cock up the timeline in several completely irredeemable ways within the first hour of his arrival.

 _‘That man,’_ Hadrian thinks angrily, licking slightly swollen lips, _‘Of course that inbred Neanderthal would be Grindelwald. Now not only is this time line supremely fucked- I might as well say goodbye to all of those beautiful plans I had to remain anonymous for once in my accursed life! And that boy- I should have known he was Tom Riddle the moment I laid eyes on him…’_

And yet he’d failed to make that connection. Perhaps because it’s been so long since he’s had to deal with Voldemort and because he’s only seen the young Tom riddle briefly in old memories.

 _‘Would knowing who he was have changed anything?’_ he wonders grimly, remembering the heart-wrenching scream Riddle had released that had drawn him in the first place. How could he have done anything less than come to the child’s aid when his wailing had sounded so terribly familiar to Teddy’s last cry? Then afterwards, when he’d seen the awful state the child was in; observed the fear and resignation in his eyes as Tom explained why he was trapped outside, and knowing he expected them to not care like everyone else and just leave him there...

Perhaps if he’d never heard that cry for help, or been reminded of the Dursley’s casual cruelty upon seeing the boy look so battered and resigned, he could have returned the damned adoption papers upon hearing the name of his new charge. But he had seen the similarities. Many of them, and he’d become too furious to turn back. In that moment Hadrian had finally understood why a monster like Voldemort had come about. He couldn’t even blame the boy; at the end of the day, Riddle had had no one to turn to but himself.

No. No, Hadrian could never have left him behind.

 _‘But what on earth am I to do with him now?’_ he sighs, knowing that he’ll be leaving this timeline eventually, even if it does take him another two hundred years. At the least he can try to be there for his charge until then, providing him with the comfort and support he never had before. At least up to the point that Hadrian finishes reconstructing the time turner so he can continue on his main mission in life. When that time comes he’ll have to decide whether or not to take Riddle with him.

Knowing himself it’s highly probable that he’ll become attached to his charge, even with the possibility that the tormented child becomes Voldemort once more. He already feels a strange pull towards the boy, and has a few theories as to why, which he’ll dwell on more later. In the meantime he needs to focus, because he’s practically back to square one when it comes to retrieving his son, and it feels like all the hard work and sacrifices he’s made up to this point have been worthless.

Sighing, Hadrian lightly squeezes the mirror, its weight feeling heavy in his palm. He hasn’t felt regret over his decisions in a very long time, but today he’s come pretty close. He wonders if killing all of those people had been worth it if he’s just going to have to do it all over again now. Its not like it matters either way since they don’t exist anymore and won’t have to be sacrificed again if things go as planned. That was the logic he’d used to butcher those poor creatures in the first place.

It never happened so it doesn’t matter right? Hadrian didn’t really kill them because they never existed. He did it once before and then undid it all so he can do it again now… For Teddy. Always for his son, anything and everything no matter how much it hurts or how sick and twisted it makes him, because in the end he’ll have his son back. That determination is all that keeps him from lying down to let the earth swallow him and time forget him on the worst of days.

Hadrian has come too far and fought too hard to stop at this point. Once upon a time he might have at least paused and wondered if he should draw a line for himself, but his name isn’t the only thing that’s changed since Teddy’s brutal death. Mere decades ago in his time period, the wizarding world had been uncovered, and a ‘Magical Purge’ began. Magical London was one of the first wizarding cities to be brought down, but it didn’t end there. The muggles continued their worldwide witch-hunt until all of the ‘unnatural freaks’ -as his uncle had once so lovingly called him and his kind, were gone.

The goblins remained unscathed because they were, and still are, extremely protective of their hoards. And because he _can’t_ die, which the muggles were glad to test the one time they’d managed to catch him, Hadrian has lived to receive the perks that come with being the last wizard standing. All wizards are inter-related in some way, so of course when you're the only one left, everything in Gringotts is placed into your vault.

The mirror of Erised had been amongst the various items he’d gained after he’d finally lost everyone he’d ever come to care for. He’d been so miserable back then. Day in and day out, he had languished in front of it, staring longingly into the smiling faces of his loved ones. They’d all gone off to a place he could never follow them to. One by one each boarded the train he’d refused in order to save them, even as he’d unknowingly damned himself. The world had left him behind to rot in a hell of his own making; an eternity alone with a silent reflection of his loved ones separated from him by cold unfeeling glass.

After far too long staring at the only things he’d ever truly desired, their once kind smiles began to look more like mocking taunts. It had incited such rage in him, up to the point that he couldn’t take it anymore. His hand had been raised to cast an overcharged bombarda, when one by one the people had faded away until only Teddy remained. His son had smiled up at him from within, and mouthed a silent ‘I love you’. He hasn’t raised a hand to it since.

For centuries it became his only source of comfort. Day by day he’d work on the time turner, and then night after night he’d stare into the mirror and drink in the sight of Teddy; happy, healthy, and Merlin how Hadrian had missed him. When the turner was completed, it had seemed like the perfect place to store Teddy’s soul, the son he desired to have back more than anything. And so he’d finished packing for the trip and prepared to make his son a horcrux.

A few days ago he'd removed all of his money and treasures from Gringotts, and put them into a bottomless bag, along with everything else he owned in preparation for the trip. Everything had been going so well. The time turner itself had been magnificent with its massive whirling hoops and powerful glyph inscribed cogs. Then one clumsy goblin ruined everything.

 

* * *

 Flashback

* * *

 

“BAKATH! LOOK OUT!!!” someone screams from above Hadrian where he’s standing within the inhumanly glorious activated machine that’s supposed to make all of his dreams possible. Tensing he looks upward just in time to see one of the many Goblins working on the platforms above fall down with a harsh splat upon the platform’s golden edge. Perhaps if the Goblin had just lain there, screaming and gushing the amber colored blood of it’s race down crisp gleaming steps, things would have gone according to plan.

This is not to be.

Howling out an agonized death knell, Bakath the Crafty seizes and rolls off solid ground into the whirling turner’s cogs. Jamming up momentarily, the gleaming metal groans, wheels slowing ominously around Hadrian. The blood curdling screams reach an ear splitting pitch. All beings watching shield their ears, observing with bated breath and rising horror as the machine begins hissing and smoking.

Delicate, rune inscribed portions are irreparably damaged as the cogs push forth, shredding the poor shrieking Goblin into pieces as the wheels begin to spin around Hadrian once more. No longer do they flow in smooth circles, but in uncoordinated jerks, sparking and shrieking as warped metal parts scrape against one another. Filled with despair, he helplessly watches sparks catch, ushering the object of his painstaking labors to its inevitable conclusion.

The ground quakes and cracks as the time turner explodes with an earth-shattering blast. Most of the shrapnel is flung outwards, but a few small shards painfully imbed themselves deeply into his neck and chest. Then everything pauses.

Slowly at first, bits and pieces of the machine reverse in their outward arcs, moving back into the turner’s original undamaged state- the shards in Hadrian strangely remain. Perhaps the anchoring spell he worked on himself is interfering with them? Either way, though he still has bits of metal in his flesh, the world around him begins moving in reverse with increasing speed.

That’s when things take a turn for the unusual and the room begins to tilt sideways. This leaves him slipping and sliding towards a growing, sparking, black tear in reality opening up next to him.

“Oh you have _got_ to be _kidding me_!” Hadrian howls with despair, sure that this is the end. To come so close and then fail so completely… if he hadn’t been mad before, this surely would have pushed him over whatever precarious edge he’d been clinging to. Breath ragged from struggling against the increasing gravity and thick with grief, Hadrian feels himself slipping into the pit and apologizes to the person he’s failed most of all, “I’m so sorry Teddy…”

Without using magic, resisting the pull is useless. Yanked downward by something centered around the pieces in his bleeding chest, he falls through. Flashes of light and hazy scenes fly by as his surroundings become an unfathomable mess of high contrast color.

There are a few brief things he can make out, flashes of his life in reverse and a few things he’s never personally seen, only heard of:

Stormy polluted skies swirl overhead.

Masses kneel before him begging for forgiveness.

Pale sorrowful eyes that have seen too much plead with him.

A middle-aged Hermione lands a heavy blow to his younger self’s falsely lined visage.

Ron appears out of thin air, drunk, distraught and with a massive hole in his chest from leaving a rather important part of himself behind. He has a moment to meet Hadrian’s own petrified eyes before he drops to the ground dead.

Teddy begs for death as Hadrian listens over his own shoulder.

The muggle who just bludgeoned his younger self, stares at him in shock.

An unexpected yank from whatever force pulled him into free fall yanks him sideways where he falls upon solid white ground in a familiar white train station.

With another harsh jerk he’s helplessly dragged across more solid ground. Flipping onto his stomach he tries once more to cling to reality, chest leaving red streaks as he goes. Growling with determined rage, he’s about to sink his animagus form’s claws in and hope for the best, when he’s dragged past a sight that freezes him in his tracks.

Staring deep into an identical pair of stunned green eyes on a much younger and less haunted face, he roars, “What the bloody hell are you just standing there for?! Get on that train you moron! There’s nothing left for you out there that you won’t ruin in the end!” Standing over the little Potter’s shoulder, the reaper’s hollow eyes stare irritatedly into Hadrian’s own.

 ** _“What have you done you foolish mortal? This realm is collapsing in on itself!”_** it demands, scowling at him.

“This is why you shouldn’t have taken Teddy!” Hadrian snarls, pleased at the idea that if he’s going down at least he’s taking everyone who helped ruin his life with him. Suddenly the ground beneath him splinters, fissures spreading like an icy lake in spring. Empty sockets widen, and Death moves to the edge of realities crumbling surface. As Hadrian gropes for something solid to cling to, the reaper reaches a skeletal hand out to him, which he vehemently ignores.

 ** _“Will you not take my hand Master? Are you going to foolishly let yourself fade into the ether instead?”_** Death hisses, reaching out yet further in an attempt to just grab him.

Hadrian is yanked downward before he can reply, landing solidly for the moment behind Harry who is waiting for Voldemort to kill him. The old snake face looks so eager and gleeful that Hadrian can’t help but want to ruin the cheerful arse’s day before he disappears again.

It’s not even a challenge really. All Hadrian has to do is glide up behind his unsuspecting younger body as he becomes more corporeal, and condescendingly query, “You do know that Harry here is one of your last two horcruxes right?”

All heads and wands whip over Harry’s shoulder, none daring to fire lest they ruin the Dark Lord’s ‘victory’. Blood red eyes meet killing curse green and fill with shocked recognition.

“…Potter?!” Voldemort irately demands, wand hovering between Hadrian and his statuesque younger self with confusion.

“Ah, no. Stopped going by that ridiculous name ages ago, Peverell has a much nicer ring to it -but that’s beside the point,” Hadrian insists. Leaning in to Potter’s personal space he rests his arm on the boy’s frozen shorter shoulder and taunts, “Can you not feel them Tom? Have you pulled yourself into such miniscule pieces that you’re unable to sense a part of you so near? Or maybe you can’t tell how precious Harry is to you because there’s so little of you left at all… Can you really afford to lose another one?”

With a gentle brush of his index finger, Hadrian moves Harry’s bangs away so Voldemort can see the legendary scar clearly. Understanding what Hadrian is implying now, the Dark Lord’s red orbs bore into Harry’s dismayed emerald for a long moment, probably seeking the truth from the boy’s weakly shielded younger mind. He finds it and assigns blame appropriately.

“DUMBLEDORE!!” the Dark Lord rages, wild magic rapidly raising the temperature throughout the clearing.

“Bingo.” Hadrian deadpans. He knows better than most the kind of man Dumbledore really was, although he learned the truth far too late for it to matter. Voldemort’s eyes narrow to slits, eyeing him up curiously, an unknown emotion glinting in his reptilian gaze.

“Are you mine as well then?” he asks, appearing oddly eager for such a confirmation.

Empty grin stretching his lips, Hadrian sneers mockingly, “No,” then pats Potter on the back with a glowing green hand. His younger self drops to the ground, a puppet whose strings have been unexpectedly severed.

Hadrian has a moment to see a lovely mix of turbulent rage and despair swirling in red eyes before he’s falling again. He ‘lands’ floating on what feels like solid ground a foot above the actual floor. He’s standing off to the side of two arguing men in a cluttered office he knows belongs to the puppeteer who played his poor little strings oh so well.

“I have spied for you, and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter –,” taut pale lips spit with indignant rage, limp black locks framing Severus’ gaunt face. Dumbledore’s old eyes twinkle even as he maintains a somber face, no doubt secretly enjoying the suffering of his spy.

Hadrian can’t help the dark hysterical laughter that bursts from him at hearing such concern from his cantankerous old instructor. Both men whirl towards him, wands at the ready. Upon seeing him, an inhumanly perfect version of their golden boy in all his demented, blood spattered glory, they both freeze. Their wide eyes clearly depict that they have no idea what to make of him.

“How touching Professor. I didn’t think you cared,” Hadrian wheezes through the madness that seems to have more firmly settled in his heart. The ‘ground’ he stands on remains firm as he approaches the bewildered duo. “But not to worry, I can’t actually die. You can thank our esteemed Headmaster for that.”

Pausing as he joins their little gaggle where he towers above the professors, he continues, rage coating every falsely chipper word he utters, “However, ‘thank you’ isn’t the term I’d like to use here. No, I think ‘fuck _you_ Albus’ has a much better ring to it don’t you gentleman?” Neither of the two offers up a single protest for his blatant malignance to Dumbledore’s character. For a moment he doesn’t understand why, but then he sees it, carved into every facet of their stony countenances.

They’re terrified, and he has one _very_ good guess as to why.

Grin splintering across his darkly amused lips, he coos softly, “Can you see it? You can, can’t you…? Is it frightening? Knowing that you’re drowning in it all?” The old goat is definitely quaking, but Severus remains determinedly stiff, both fully aware that they are the potential prey of a force neither have any hope of stopping. Such is one of the usual reactions he’s observed from the lucky few who can see to the source of his power -besides Luna of course.

“ _Harry?_ ” Dumbledore squeaks fearfully, elder wand still pointed at Hadrian. Thoughtlessly, he reaches out towards it, and barely has his finger brushed the wand when it crumbles to dust. Dumbledore stares at the remains in anguish -it’s quite satisfying, though he didn’t intend to do it.

Sneering, he retracts his limb and declares, “It’s Lord Peverell or Master of Death to _you_.”

The room around them cracks in half. On one side it continues to be Dumbledore’s office, Snape and Dumbledore shaken by the sudden split in reality but otherwise unaffected. The other half however…

“Filthy, freaky little bastard!” Vernon roars, completely unaware that he’s no longer alone as he continues on his merry way. Stomping down the hall, pictures rattle and tilt as the whale of a man storms towards the cupboard. In his wake he drags the unconscious, black and blue body of a nine-year-old Harry potter. The marks have very obviously been made with the wrong end of his uncle’s belt- the usual punishment for his ‘ _freakiness_ ’.

Uncaring of any further injuries it might cause, Vernon rips the cupboard door open, flings the tiny child inside, and slams the door shut- locking it from the outside.

“No food for a week!” Vernon huffs. Still not seeing the silent audience to his merciless cruelty, the man happily makes his way to the living room, probably to loaf around on his fat arse and watch the telly. Harry could have died in that closet and the fat fuck wouldn’t have felt a moment of regret- the Dursleys probably would have celebrated.

“…Oh Harry.” Albus chokes, unable to tear his eyes from the scene, Severus in a similar state, “I never-!”

Hadrian ignores them both, eyes only for the unknowing muggle who’s just become a homing beacon for his wrath. Magic thickening until even someone as magically deficient as Vernon Dursely can feel his rage, he forgets to hold back and stalks forth full of malicious intent. Years of suffering under this man- this monster that got away, and now he has a chance to repay his ‘kindness’.

Dursley has only just whirled around fearfully when Hadrian rips off the arms of the man who had so loved to rain rage filled blows down upon him. Vernon’s screams are music to his ears, a symphony of sound he didn’t know he was missing until the notes soothe a few fragmented pieces of his soul. Dumbledore and Snape have gone completely silent behind him, but he doesn’t spare a moment to dwell on such things.

“I’ve dreamed of this moment. Pondered it fondly in my free time,” Hadrian sighs wistfully, absently using his magic to ensure the lard doesn’t bleed out just yet. “I didn’t realize how satisfying this would be in real life. Such a shame that I let you and your brood go so easily last time- don’t worry though. This is a golden opportunity to make up for lost time that I don’t intend to waste.”

Wet reddened eyes gaze fearfully up at him from the disgustingly blubbering splotchy face, Vernon pleading for mercy. Hadrian ignores it easily.

“I never understood the games other children played thanks to your family isolating me from all other human beings. I think I finally get what’s so amusing about a very specific one however so lets play,” Hadrian declares. Using magic to control Vernon’s severed limbs, he makes one punch the man in his own face. Tauntingly he asks Dursley, “Why are you hitting yourself?”

Rinse and repeat. Definitely more amusing than he’d thought it was as a child.

“ _VERNON!!_ ” Petunia shrieks shrilly, foolishly rushing towards her fallen husband. Power lashing out without a thought, he shoves a bolt of ice into her chest that begins freezing her from the inside out. It spreads rapidly, back and blue patches of frostbite moving over her quivering limbs.

“You look a little chilled Tooney. Must be all that ice inside your soul,” he jeers, shoving her so she falls onto her crippled lump of a husband, who’s nubs give a massive spurt of blood as pressure is applied. Vernon gives one last gurgle before perishing.

“You’re a m-m-m-monster!!” Petunia sobs, helplessly cleaving to her dead husbands still warm form as her skin hardens, pieces of her cracking off as she shakes.

“I am what the world has made of me,” Hadrian tells her solemnly. Eyes glinting with steel, he takes in her suffering and basks in it, assuring her, “What _you people_ made me.” Truth rings in his words and Petunia cringes from it, perhaps feeling some guilt for once in her life. He doesn’t care.

When she has become more ice that actual flesh, he summons the frying pan she so loved to strike him with and returns the favor in excess. Gripping the handle tightly he swings at her with all his might. She shatters; crumbling to glittering pieces within a pool of Vernon’s blood- it’s beautiful in a way.

Blinking, Hadrian remembers that he has an audience- two very powerful individuals who have remained strangely silent. Or so he might think if he couldn’t tell that his magic had reacted very strongly to the idea of not being interrupted and petrified the men behind him. He’s just let go of his hold on the duo, when a thought strikes him.

Slowly tilting his head to the side, he meets Dumbledore’s disappointed gaze and chuckles.

“You know, I always so conveniently forgot about the loyal squib you had watching me from across the street all those years ago… To think that I never once realized in all the time you lived that you knew. Tell me, did you approve of my treatment?” he wonders aloud, watching with some amusement as Snape stealthily inches away from the old coot. Dumbledore opens his mouth to deny it, but Hadrian is quick to cut him off, “No no, don’t protest I know you did. You definitely appreciated the results of my abuse. How eternally grateful I was to you, unquestioning of my ‘ _savior_ ’. The submissiveness, the disregard I held for my own well-being, the distrust in all adults besides yourself…”

He laughs hollowly because otherwise he might cry. How embarrassing… to think he can still be affected by the old man’s betrayal after all this time.

“Harry please- you have to believe me! I-,” Dumbledore pleads, stopping himself when he sees that there is not to be an ounce of forgiveness or understanding from Hadrian. Sweating and pale the old man tries another route, eyes un-twinkling he lectures, “No matter what the Dursley’s did to you, surely this madness was uncalled for!” Off to the side, Snape cringes as far from Dumbledore as he can.

“Uncalled for.” Hadrian drolls. Weighing the words in his mind, he wonders how the old goat came to such a conclusion after seeing all of this.

The old man takes his statement as a question and insists, “Completely uncalled for and unnecessarily cruel. You were meant to be the better man Harry! This is just sinking down to their depths. No, worse. Doing things like this makes you no better than Voldemort! Surely you understand this.” Silence reins, and Dumbledore sees it as an opportunity to continue his ridiculous tirade. “And what madness have you wrought upon us now boy? I know you are not from our time, nor this one- Meddling with time is forbidden for a reason. You may have destroyed us all!”

Hadrian has had enough.

“If I have destroyed the entirety of the shit hole lifetime you used to manipulate me into the half-life I live now, then so be it. My life was hell –is hell. This ‘madness’ around us is the last attempt of a desperate man trying to save the only thing that bloody matters to me in this miserable world. And yes, I failed. And yes, things are looking grim, but you of all people have no right to judge me,” he sneers. “You’ve been sitting up on your high horse for far too long and I’m sick of it. How does Grindelwald’s lover, his right hand man and the true creator of Voldemort think he can preach about right and wrong to me? You hate muggles as much as I do.”

Dumbledore gapes at him, not a word of protest to the claims. Severus stares at the old man in shock, never having suspected such things.

“But it was all-!”

“For the greater good? Yes you did so love saying that. I’m sure what you really meant was ‘ _a little evil, for the greater good_ ’. What does one boy’s suffering matter if it’s for the greater good- your own greater good that is. Felt wonderful having all those people look at you like a hero when all you ever did was for yourself hm?” Hadrian sneers in Dumbledore’s stricken face.

Pulling his shoulders back so he towers even more above the old man he says softly, eagerly, “Today things are going to change. In exchange for all those times I suffered for your ‘greater good’, you’re going to do something for _my_ greater good. Nothing can truly take away the pain I’ve suffered, but it will make me feel better.”

“What?” Dumbledore whispers fearfully.

“ _Scream for me_ ,” he hisses in parseltongue. Flexing his magic where it’s suffocating the old man’s own, he twists and warps Dumbledore’s core until it no longer recognizes it’s wielder. When Dumbledore’s magic begins violently forcing it’s way out of a body it no longer identifies with, the man does indeed scream. He dies quickly.

“…I misjudged you Potter. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know for that,” a quiet but determined voice rings out.

High fading, Hadrian feels as hollow as ever when he turns to Snape and insists, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry that I looked in your pensive all those years ago.” Snape looks shocked to be getting an apology, but Hadrian doesn’t let that stop him. Continuing, he insists, “It was an awful thing to do and I deeply regretted it. You’re a decent bloke and you didn’t deserve that even if you acted like a git to me.”

“You reminded me of him- not so much anymore,” Snape says, eyes looking at Hadrian’s more androgynous features sadly, no doubt seeing more of lily in his face.

Remembering the cruel debt James had held over Severus head to ensure his silence, Hadrian offers, “Not that it matters now, but as far as I’m concerned whatever life debt you owed to the arse who sired me has been repaid in full many times over. You might not have yet, but in the future you gave your life for mine- I owe you Professor. You’re free to leave if you can.”

Snape scoffs at him, any remaining wariness fading at his words, and retorts, “That debt was paid in full years ago. The magical oath I swore to Dumbledore to protect Lily’s son for the rest of his life however, will never be finished.”

“Damn.” Hadrian frowns, knowing there’s nothing he can do to help.

“So, seeing as we’re stuck here until time unravels around us, would you care to explain how all this came to be?” Snape inquires, staring at Harry’s locked cupboard with a pained expression. The words come easily to him as Hadrian bitterly summarizes everything that’s happened to lead them to this point to Snape’s attentive ears. He tells the dour man everything, all the trials and rare tribulations he’s lived through to get to this point.

He explains his first death, how he met the reaper and then gave up an afterlife to save the world. Clenches his fists as he talks about losing the only woman he’d ever loved, and how he hadn’t wanted to continue after that. He probably would have given up on life if his godson Teddy hadn’t been given to him, and sometimes he wishes he had because he feels like his son would have had a normal life with literally anyone else. Instead his son had lived to be mauled by werewolves at five, and Hadrian had missed out on most of his son’s childhood years because he’d felt forced to make a cure on his own.

He’d actually done it, but it had been a short lived victory that had cost him his son’s life when Greyback had received the cure and been less than pleased. Hadrian then briefly explains the miserable two centuries afterwards in which he’d searched for a way to get back his son. He’d survived through society turning on him, the muggles bombing wizards out of existence, and post apocalyptic monsters. When he’d finally built a way to get to what he needed with the help of goblin allies, things had once more taken a turn for the worse. This appears to be the default state of his life now.

Mentally exhausted, he concludes his bitter tale, “Now I’m falling through time and I have no idea how to stop. Merlin knows I’m hoping to land in the right place, but I ceased being so foolishly optimistic a dark age ago.”

Snape scowls at him exasperatedly, looking aged by having heard Hadrian’s story. Confidently the man asserts, “Knowing your ridiculous luck you’ll be just fine.” Sighing he suggests, “If I were you Potter, I’d make the best of wherever you end up. If you actually meant what you said about owing me, I personally, would appreciate it if you prevented a repeat of my death.”

Hadrian is about to promise Snape that he’ll do his best, when he feels the ‘floor’ begin to shift once more and an absolutely brilliant idea hits him. Manic smile growing on his face, he reaches forth and grips Snape’s shoulder tightly. In a moment of reckless whimsy, he uses his magic to latch onto Snape’s magical oath to Dumbledore and anchors the man to him. He’s had so few second chances, and even fewer people he feels he can trust, that Snape’s mere presence has improved his mood a bit. Though it will take more time to construct another time turner, he’s glad to have the opportunity to save the potions master. He never got to thank the man who died for him, secretly loyal to only Harry because he loved Lily so much.

“Call me Hadrian -or Peverell, I’m not picky, but times are ever changing sir and where we’re headed calling me Potter might not be wise!” he cackles, truly amused at the confused and angry look Snape directs at him.

“What are you doing?!” Severus snaps, indignantly trying to free himself from Hadrian’s icy hold.

“Saving your ungrateful life of course,” he replies, continuing to smirk at the struggling professor. While not the same as making Snape his horcrux, something as binding as a magical oath should be able to tether the man to him. Feeling the floor drop away entirely, he grips onto Snape’s robes with the hand not already latched onto his shoulder, and pulls him off the edge and into freefall with him. He can hear his favorite dungeon bat cursing at him the entire time they slip and slide down through the streams of time.

Perhaps it’s because he’s clutching Snape that more and more of the memories Hadrian sees fly by are from the older man and the people he knew growing up. Severus completely freezes when Lily’s face crops up and ceases to protest further as they both watch her through their descent.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside now.” A shocked look flickers briefly over Snape’s face, then grows as Voldemort continues to try to get Lily to move without killing her.

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-”

“This is my last warning-”

“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please- I’ll do anything- ”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

Seemingly having had enough, the Dark lord raises his wand. Green light flashes around the room and Lily drops to the ground as a watery-eyed Snape and somber Hadrian begin drifting down again.

“- _And the dark lord shall mark him as his equal…_ ”

Lily coos love and affection into Harry’s fluffy hair.

Voldemort sneers and crucios a follower who has failed him.

Lily is visiting with Petunia, or rather trying to. James continues to be extremely rude and obnoxious towards the Dursleys until he and Vernon are screaming about how much better they are compared to the other. Vernon kicks the couple out, where James then begins yelling at Lily over her disgusting family making both her and baby Harry cry. Snape looks pissed. So is Hadrian.

What they next witness destroys whatever little respect Hadrian may have had for James. Lily is making breakfast, a look of slight confusion on her face as she stares at James. The doorbell rings and while she’s going to answer it, James pulls out a vial full of potion with an unforgettable mother of pearl sheen and pours it into Lily’s glass.

“ _No_ …” Snape begs, a look of terrible understanding dawning on him as he and Hadrian watch Lily return. All odd looks fall from her as she drinks her juice; completely oblivious to the triumphant leer on James smug face as she drinks the amortentia laced liquid. Powerless tears in his eyes Severus vomits and curses Potter to the lowest pits of hell, begging Lily for forgiveness for failing her so. Hadrian doesn’t blame him, he feels sickened himself knowing his father is not only a bully, but also a rapist.

They drift again to see Severus hung upside down and Lily demanding Potter to put her friend down.

“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” James says earnestly. It’s disgusting. That tone, those words… his father is disgusting.

A young Severus curls away from his drunken muggle father’s fists. Hadrian doesn’t offer any words of sympathy to Snape, as he knows from experience that they aren’t always appreciated.

The next time they fall, it’s much further down through an electric green beam. They touch down with a massive boom that he manages to protect Snape from at the last instant. Both the blood and golden shards from the turner are gone from him, and Hadrian feels no more pull at all. Wherever they are, this must be it- the last stop.

 

* * *

 Flashback End

* * *

 

 _‘Things could have gone much worse though…’_ Hadrian notes, relieved that he still has a son to worry about. If the portal had failed to send them through time, they could have been stuck in some small pocket outside of reality for all eternity. Him and his son simply ceasing to exist was also an entirely plausible scenario.

Just by going back in time Hadrian has changed things, so if his anchoring spell had failed to tie his and Teddy’s souls into this new time line, they could have simply faded from existence. If his spell is working as it should be -despite the date being incorrect, then now even if Hadrian kills one of their own descendants, Teddy, Severus and himself will remain unaffected.

“H-how can I be of assistance sir?” A fretful croaky voice inquires. Blinking, Hadrian drifts from staring into the abyss to meet the wide-eyed goblin’s gaze across the counter from him. Whereas only point one percent of the wizarding world can see his massive power and that he himself is the source, almost all other magical beings can tell with one look that he is not something to be trifled with. They all either fear, loath, or revere him on sight.

Perhaps the goblins would fear his presence too, if they didn’t idolize him. They’d never quite divulged why, but after he’d changed his name to Hadrian Peverell there had been a dramatic shift in their attitude towards him.

“I’d like to reopen the level one hundred Peverell deep vault,” he declares, waiting for the being to gain hold of its nerves. Gringotts contains a total of one hundred floor levels, one being the floor for the smallest, least protected vaults that are kept closest to the surface, and one hundred being the lowest, most dangerous level, opened only for the wealthiest of magicals. Only three pureblood families have vaults within the lowest level, the descendants of Merlin, the descendants of Le Fey, and the Peverells.

All three of the vaults have been sealed, remaining that way until their lines finally die off, or the true heir comes to claim one for themselves. There haven’t been any such heirs to Merlin or Le Fey in ages, and the same could be said for the Peverells -until now. Hadrian already knows that this will work, because he’s had his blood tested for inheritances before, and somehow through Lily’s side of the family, he’s the one true Peverell heir. Apparently his mother had been adopted making him entirely unrelated to the Dursleys –thank Merlin.

For reasons unknown, her real father and mother hadn’t stuck around. The blood tests had revealed their names to him, but that didn’t make it any easier to hunt them down. His grandmother’s name was a too common muggle name, and his grandfather’s had appeared in a foreign language Hadrian had never been able to hunt down the origin of. The point is that he knows he’s the Peverell heir, but he still doesn’t understand his own origins; why his grandparents gave up his mother, or where they went.

It plagues his mind when he has the time to dwell on it, but knowing more about his family won’t help him get his son back. Which of course makes that information irrelevant.

“Peverell?” The goblin asks, shaky voice full of incredulity as he looks over Hadrian’s bedraggled robes.

“Hadrian Peverell,” he reveals, looking down at the quivering man with a distasteful sneer of his own. The being still looks doubtful, so Hadrian brushes some rubble off a shoulder absentmindedly, and banishes all the mud and blood from his person while also mending all the damage done to his robes. When he has been returned to his usual pristine state -besides his bitten lip, he places his hand delicately upon the countertop, showcasing his lordship ring. By that time he can practically feel everyone within range sneaking peeks at him from their own counters or shamelessly raking their eyes over him as they listen in.

Claiming his title in the open like this is going to have the locals in a frenzy, but that will happen within the next few hours regardless of what he does. Once word gets out that Grindelwald has been beaten –and it won’t be long now if those Aurors decide to spread the good word, the world will want to know who did it.

Holding back a sigh of irritation he smiles without warmth and says, “I will of course be happy to submit to an inheritance test to prove my claim, but I’d prefer to conduct those tests and the rest of this conversation in a more private setting.”

Gasping, the goblin leans in for a closer look, inspecting the jewel with a well-trained eye to affirm authenticity, paling when he realizes Hadrian isn’t joking. Hadrian controls the urge to roll his eyes at the goblin, which if he leaned any closer, would probably fall off the front of his desk. Before that can happen he quickly straightens his spine.

Eyeballing Hadrian eagerly, he demands, “You said your name is _Hadrian_ Peverell?” Sighing, Hadrian nods. The goblin swiftly climbs down from his desk, and demands, “If you would follow me, I’ll escort you to our head goblin’s office.”

Inclining his head, Hadrian sets a slow pace besides the shorter being and allows himself to be led out of the main room. They walk down a long hall to a gilded office door. “Please wait here for one moment,” the goblin requests, cracking the door and slipping inside.

Seconds later Hadrian takes an instinctive step aside as the goblin he’d followed bursts from the office, ducking an axe flung by someone within.

“The next time you make a guest as honored as this one ‘wait’ outside my door it’ll be your last Nornak!” Bellows a gruff voice from within. An older goblin peers around the door to look at Hadrian, eagerly gesturing for him to enter. “Lord Peverell! It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. My name is Ragnok, head goblin of these vaults, and I am most eager to help you set up your vault –you are prepared to take the necessary tests? We can’t afford to do away with such formalities, but I’m sure you understand how important they are when we protect so many treasures...” Grinning at Hadrian with a smile of teeth sharp enough to make a shark jealous, he asks, “You did say your name is _Hadrian_ Peverell?”

Having spent decades living amongst goblins, Hadrian knows to flash his own demented grin. Teeth shifting and sharpening to reveal a set of razor sharp pearly whites, he flashes as many of them as possible in response to the goblin’s subtle challenge. Not many wizards have spent enough time with goblins to understand that they don’t smile, and that when they show teeth it’s either an insult or a challenge. Hadrian loves it, and long ago adopted the tradition as one of his own –a secret threat he could give that everyone but a goblin would take as a positive gesture.

Ragnok definitely gets that he’s not actually smiling at him. He looks shocked, and then horrified- probably because he didn’t expect for Hadrian to get that he was being mocked.

Speaking coldly through still sharpened fangs, he steps by the head goblin and into the room as he retorts, “Why yes, yes I do believe that is who I am. And yes, the usual tests will be fine, although I’m not certain if I feel comfortable continuing to do business here after being treated thusly… Perhaps once I have access to my vaults I’ll be taking my business elsewhere. And to think, I was considering making an overwhelmingly large deposit here.”

“Now now, lets not be hasty sir! I… apologize if I’ve offended you. I wasn’t aware that you understood our customs and I’m deeply sorry for directing such rudeness towards you. It’s just that we’ve been expecting a Hadrian Peverell for… a very long time, and while you are indeed a very imposing man, you’re a little early, and quite different than what we expected,” Ragnok admits looking as flustered as a goblin can. Continuing in a regretful manner he apologizes, “Not that that excuses my actions. I assure you I’ll be doing everything in my power to earn your forgiveness after the tests if you are indeed who you claim to be.”

Hearing the doubt still in the shorter being’s voice, he considers just taking his hoard to another bank, but he’d have to make trips out of the country, and he really can’t be bothered to put his valuable time into yet another frustrating bank venture. He really hates having to attend to menial tasks like this when there are far better uses of his time elsewhere, but he does need to get this done.

Pushing his distaste and frustration aside, he moves to the main desk and immediately takes the blood quill when it’s offered. Unlike the one he’d been forced to use during his formative years, this one won’t leave a scar, and only makes his fingertips sting slightly as he signs his legal name in blood upon crisp white parchment. As he finishes scrawling the last L in his name, the blood flashes and glows a dark blue, confirming to the goblin skeptics once and for all that he truly is whom he’s claimed to be.

Ragnok’s sunken orbs bulge to the point that he wonders how much wider they can get before his eyeballs just pop out of their sockets. The goblin opens its mouth, no doubt to begin uttering more useless apologies and platitudes, but Hadrian isn’t at all interested in wasting time listening to them.

“Satisfied? Good. Now let’s get down to business,” he asserts, reaching within his robes to pull out a magically binding contract, “If you’ll sign here, this is simply to confirm that nothing that I reveal to you or anyone else you wish to assist us today gets out. I’m a very private person Mr. Ragnok, and have many affairs which I don’t want to be meddled in.”

Mouth still opening and closing as if not sure whether to continue apologizing or not, the goblin takes the papers and nervously shuffles through them, scrutinizing each one as intently as he can in as little time as possible lest he further insult Hadrian. Towards the end, the goblin pauses and looks at him with disbelief and grudging respect.

“The consequence for breaking this contract is an agonizing death?” Ragnok asks, eyebrows raised.

“It shouldn’t be a problem for you unless -do you not respect your clients confidentiality?” he drawls, reconsidering whether or not he should continue to deal with these goblins. They may be related to the ones he’d had an amicable relationship with, but they clearly aren’t the same. As if sensing his waning interest, an offended looking Ragnok speedily scrawls his name upon the papers and hands them back to him.

“I assure you our clients affairs are handled with the utmost care and confidentiality,” Ragnok grits out as Hadrian flips through the papers. “To imply otherwise is highly offensive my Lord.”

When he’s made sure that every one of them has been signed, he allows a smirk to grow on his face and pulls out his bottomless bag.

“I’m happy to hear that Mr. Ragnok. I’d have hated to have had to lug all this elsewhere,” Hadrian says in a far more pleasant tone as he carefully upends the bag and allows his shrunken treasure trove to spill out upon the table. Salivating almost to the point of drooling, the head goblin’s eager eyes take in what amounts to a world’s worth of gold and precious items. Pressing a button beneath his desk, Ragnok calls in a team of goblins to begin counting the gold and sorting through his valuables.

Looking the pile over with greedy awe, Ragnok utters, “This is… We are honored indeed that you would trust us with such-”

Waving a dismissive hand Hadrian cuts him off and says, “Those aren’t what I treasure. What I’d like for you to keep safe if all else fails are these…” reaching into his robes he pulls out a second, far more warded bottomless bag, and begins removing the contents one by one. An old and worn marauders map, a cracked lens from a pair of spectrespecs, a pile of broken horcruxes, one unblemished goblet with a badger engraved on it, his scrapbook, and a handful of gleaming red feathers are the first of many precious bits and bobbles that he places upon the table.

“Since you signed the non-disclosure contract, there is something else I’d greatly appreciate your assistance with,” Hadrian begins, casually brushing his fingers over the relics of his old life. Ragnok tears his gaze from the hoard his men are sorting through, looking at him with almost manic determination and awe.

“ _Anything_ for you my Lord,” the goblin vehemently assures him.

“I’m in a rather troubling position. There was an… accident, and all of my family’s papers; birth certificates, degrees, certifications, and the like, were all erased,” he cautiously reveals. Goblins don’t just deal in gold, they’re in charge of all wizarding accounts and records, including the ones kept in the Ministry. In order to craft his false life here, he’ll need their help. “You’re aware that I am who I say I am, but proof of my existence is a bit -ah, non-existent at the moment. I’d like for you to help me remedy the troubling position I’ve found myself in.”

“Would you prefer a minimal portfolio of yourself, or an extensive, in-depth history?” Ragnok inquires, blatantly undaunted by his request and already opening his desk drawers to pull out a sheaf of blank legal documents.

 _‘Looks like there are more shady characters out and about than I expected at this point in time,’_ he thinks, amused by the lack of reaction and wary of yet more potential complications he’s likely to come across. Comparing the two piles of paperwork he’s being offered, he decides to go with, “Extensive. I need them to be able to withstand intense scrutiny by the public as I’m to be in the limelight any moment now.”

Something as significant as taking down the resident Dark Lord wouldn’t be kept from the public for anymore than an hour. As soon as the Aurors decide to start bragging, the story will be all over Diagon, his name on the lips of every last resident, whether as a curse or a praise. He has very little time to falsify a life for himself before the ministry start digging for records of their mystifying hero and either come up empty, or find his finished background documents. He might only have until they finish processing Grindelwald.

Luckily he already has some rough drafts drawn up for himself and Teddy thanks to the goblins from his time. Had he reached the correct time period, he’d have used them there, so at least they’re serving a purpose here. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulls out a parchment with some general background information on his life and hands it over. Accepting it, Ragnok quickly begins filling in the blank official documents with the information he’s provided.

People reading it will believe him to be a young, widowed thirty-two year old with a severely unwell son. Severus will be seen as his well-meaning uncle, who wasn’t aware of him until years after his parent’s deaths. The moment he’d discovered his orphaned nephew, he’d taken Hadrian in. They’ll also see that for the last few years he’s been travelling with Hadrian in order to help him care for his ailing child, as both Snape and himself will be listed as accredited Potions Masters and Dark Arts experts.

“What school did you earn your mastery from?” Ragnok inquires, not looking up from the papers.

“...How about you pick one for me?” Hadrian suggests, not knowing what institutes are running or who’s running them at this point. Ragnok can’t tell anyone anything he reveals here anyway.

“Hmm… Very well then, your Uncle was once apprenticed to Professor Swoopstikes –the recently passed away former Hogwarts Potions Master. You on the other-hand, having been traumatized by the people at the muggle orphanage you were left in, couldn’t be around groups of strangers without having bouts of wild magic. You were homeschooled and privately tutored, and then tested out of classes at a young age because you were a prodigy. You then went ahead and took the Mastery tests,” the goblin suggests, waiting for his nod of approval. He inclines his head and they continue to hash his story out.

The rest is fairly simple, although it takes Ragnok a while to choose two deceased wizards one related to the Lupins and another to the Blacks who would fit as Teddy’s birth parents. Hadrian had blood adopted his son early on so that if anything happened to him, his son would rightfully inherit everything he owned –this was back when he’d still thought he _could_ die. Now he knows it wasn’t really necessary, but he’d have done it anyway to see Teddy beam at him the way he had back then. He’d been so happy to have that kind of connection to Hadrian, and he himself had felt the same way.

That connection is what had helped him make a horcux with Teddy. Blood bonds are powerful things indeed. The point is that legally, he will always be seen as Teddy’s father, but a simple blood test could reveal that they aren’t actually related. If he somehow manages to get Teddy his own body rather than having to leap through time again, then he’ll need their background to be uncontestable. Which is why Teddy actually gets his own back-story even though he might never interact with anyone else in this era.

When they’ve gotten almost everything Severus, Teddy and himself will need paperwork wise drawn up and squared away, he remembers the newest member he now has to account for. Once more shuffling through his breast pocket, he pulls out Tom’s adoption papers and has Ragnok go ahead and file those as well. While he’s at it, he sets up accounts for them all in case he’s ever indisposed or unavailable for any length of time. It’s happened before, it could always happen again, and he wants to assure that everyone will thrive no matter where he is or what state he’s in.

For Severus he designates enough funds that the man can afford his various ingredients, and anything else he might desire to pursue in his free time here. To Tom he sets up an account that will let the boy have a certain amount to do whatever he wants with each month, and then a larger account that he’ll have total access to as an adult. Lastly, for Teddy he leaves anything and everything he owns open for his son to have should he ever want for anything. A world’s worth of treasure, and all he wants is his son to be whole and happy… the one thing he doesn’t have.

But by Merlin, he’s going to.

“What should I put as your current address?”

Signing off Teddy as his heir, Hadrian passes the paper to Ragnok and reveals, “I don’t own any residences at the moment but I planned to purchase a lot to construct one on. I’m very particular about my living arrangements, and have found that it’s easier to build something from the ground up than settle for something less than satisfactory.” After the muggles had bombed Grimmauld he’d had to improvise when it came to living arrangements, and the ones he made himself were always more durable and secure than the average magical dwelling.

“We have several places close to Diagon Alley-,” Ragnok starts to suggest, once more poking around in his desk.

“I’d prefer somewhere more private. Perhaps somewhere near Hogwarts so I can be closer to my new ward,” Hadrian interrupts, watching as the other goblins in the room sort through his gold with ill-disguised glee. In reality, he holds great fondness for the old castle, and would enjoy living close enough to see it standing whole and unblemished once more. Being close enough to monitor Riddle is just a plus.

“Well we do have a very large section of private land available near Hogsmead… But I doubt you’d be interested in the forbidden forest-”

“How much land?” Hadrian asks, loving the idea of living in a zone where other beings fear to tread.

“…All of it if you want it,” Ragnok says staring blankly back, clearly surprised by his enthusiastic query. “The centaurs won’t be too happy if you want _their_ territory but-”

“I’ll take everything besides their section of the forest,” Hadrian decides, pleased that one of the bigger things on his list to get done gets to be checked off so soon, “Who do you know around here that I can pay to draw up some basic blueprints so I can begin building?”

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll take care of everything,” the head goblin insists. “What exactly are you wanting from your new home?”

For a long moment he stares down at Ragnok, debating whether or not he feels like arguing with the goblin, but then decides it isn’t worth it when he has so much else he needs to do. Hadrian could resist more, but this day has already worn him down to his bones and it’s not even over yet. He’s exhausted, disappointed, and frankly just burnt out at this point. He’s in dire need of the silence that he’s grown so accustomed to over these many, many years alone. Merlin, he hasn’t even been to the Ministry yet.

Eyes narrowing he holds back a sigh of frustration as he lists everything he wants, “For starters I’d like there to be four main bedrooms, a family room, a kitchen, a dining room –you’ve seen how many books I have,” Hadrian pauses, pointing to the tiny shrunken towers of them, “I’m going to need a library big enough for all of those, and then a hidden room for the books and items I don’t want my kids or any future guests to get hold of. I’ll also need three potions labs -one for my kids, one for my uncle, and another for myself. A greenhouse would be nice, a garden…”

Remembering his son’s love of seeking he adds, “And I’ll need room for a Quidditch pitch.”

“Anything else?” Ragnok asks jotting his requests down.

He’s about to reply in the negative, when he thinks about what Tom might want and decides, “Actually yes. I’d like a dueling room equipped with self-repairing dummies as well. Oh –and under no circumstances is there to be a fireplace anywhere. Can you manage that?”

“Of course! Nothing but the best for the esteemed Lord Peverell,” the goblin guarantees, even going so far as to give a shallow bow. They must really want his gold…

“Very well. Now, I do have business elsewhere that I need to attend to today –will you be able to sort out the rest of this without me here or do you need me for anything else?” Hadrian asks, hoping that they’ll let him go so he can look into more temporary housing before he heads to the ministry. He’s also going to need a secretary to handle the public and a wardrobe technician. He prefers to have other people around to help with the tasks he finds tedious and a waste of time but are necessary in order to show the world a certain front.

Appearing powerful and well groomed not only opens doors, it keeps away most common irritants, ones that are useless to his main goals.

“Oh no, we have everything handled here,” the goblin assures him, standing to lead him from the room. “But you said you have no current lodgings, and haven’t been in town for long?” Reluctantly Hadrian nods, sensing what’s about to go down. “Then you wouldn’t know which residences provide the most pleasing services. I highly recommend _Zenith_ –hands down the best hotel in all of magical London. Several of the people there are good associates of mine, so I know for certain that they’ll be thrilled to entertain you at their establishment. And very accommodating if you’d like your rooms set up a specific way; no fireplaces, for example.”

Seeing the conflicted look on Hadrian’s face as he thinks it over, Ragnok pushes the idea further, “How about I just go ahead and let them know you’ll be coming and have them prepare a room for you and your family hm? That way you can go ahead with the rest of your busy day, and not have to worry about it. You just leave it to me, I’ll take care of everything!”

Not wanting to argue when the goblin is actually making his workload for the day lighter, Hadrian sighs and accepts, “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

The goblin lights up at his acquiescence, and gushes, “Excellent! You just leave it to us; we’ll take good care of you my lord. Is there anything else we can do for you today?”

Slowing as they approach the end of the hallway to the main room, Hadrian turns to Ragnok with a piercing glare and, cursing his impulsive bleeding heart says, “Actually, there _is_ one last thing you can do for me…”

 

* * *

 

After getting directions from a giggly Ministry receptionist, Hadrian strides down one familiar winding hall after another for his meeting with Auror Abbott. Coming to a halt, he knocks on the office door he’s been directed to.

“Enter,” calls a feminine voice, rough with age. Abbott eagerly pulls the door open, urging Hadrian to come in. It appears as if he’s interrupted some sort of meeting. Obviously an important one seeing as no one looks too pleased to see him -besides Abbott of course. Hadrian is sure that that will change in a moment.

Seven well-dressed people sit around a table set for fifteen, leaving the chairs closest to the doorway empty. A stately aged woman with large curling silver bangs sits at the head, most likely the same woman who bade him to enter. She peers down her long nose at Hadrian, beady dark eyes clearly telling him with one look that whatever he has to say had better be important.

“Minister Gafrond, this is the man I told you about –the one responsible for wandlessly defeating the Dark Lord Grindelwald!” Abbott blurts excitedly, pointing at Hadrian. Complete and utter silence fills the room as the minister and department heads stare at Hadrian with disbelief. Gafrond unwittingly quirks her lips in response to Abbott’s enthusiasm, before reverting to her more serious face and looking to Hadrian.

“Wandlessly you say? That’s a new one. Quite an impressive ability to have, especially for someone as young as yourself -and to have taken out Gellert Grindelwald, my word! That kind of talent is front page worthy, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen your face around -what was your name again?” Gafrond inquires seeming intrigued.

“You flatter me Minister Gafrond," Hadrian demurs, politely inclining his head, "I’m not sure if Mr. Abbott has introduced me yet, but I am Lord Hadrian Peverell of the ancient and most powerful house of Peverell."

“Ogs wash. There asn't been a Pev’rell Lord in London for centries," sneers a tan blonde man with a heavy foreign accent.

"There is one now," Hadrian coolly informs the man, casually lifting his hand to show off his Lordship ring. Only a true Peverell Lord can wear it without being cursed, and the blonde knows it judging by how his eyes widen with fear and awe. He isn't alone in his reverence.

"I'm sure my coworker Mr. Yaxley meant no disrespect. You have to admit that what you're telling us sounds quite unbelievable Lord Peverell," a pale blond with familiar features soothes, an intrigued glint to his eyes. Rising, he rounds the table to stand before Hadrian. Offering his hand, which Hadrian politely shakes, he introduces himself, "Artemis Malfoy. It's an honor meeting the savior of the wizarding world, and a Peverell Lord, my, my… I hope you'll forgive us all for any unintended rudeness, you have given us a bit of a shock today."

Malfoy looks more happily surprised than shocked to Hadrian, which doesn't bode well for him knowing his history with the Malfoy’s.

"I'll say," Yaxley grumbles, embarrassed. Gafrond coughs gaining Yaxley's attention and sends him a warning look. He grumbles, quieting down.

"It does sound a little farfetched," Hadrian acknowledges. Yaxley huffs loudly, but he ignores it and admits, "I actually wasn’t supposed to be in London today, but the long distance transportation spell I've been working on got botched up."

"Where were you attempting to go?" A bespectacled man inquires.

"I was trying to get to Gringotts. This is my first day in London and I had some items that I needed to get locked up safely while I finish transitioning," Hadrian smoothly explains.

"You plan on being here for some time then. Wonderful," Gafrond declares, grinning at him. "We still need a statement from you along with a pensive memory of your fight with Grindelwald. Also Miss Nott is going to want an interview with you after we finish up here, but then you are free to go about your business," Gafrond says, pointing to a bookish looking brunette who has been writing quietly but furiously throughout their entire discussion. Hadrian inwardly groans; he hates dealing with the press.

"Oh, and I’m certain that within the week the ministry will be holding a ball in honor of you and the war ending, which you simply must attend since you are our hero," Malfoy insists, engaging in a brief staring contest with Hadrian, who after a moment of internal debate nods in agreement. He never thought the day would come when he’d be forced to agree to a Malfoy’s demands.

If there’s one thing Hadrian hates more than conversing with people of no importance to him it’s having to attend social gatherings with said individuals. He hadn’t enjoyed it in his youth and he certainly isn’t enthused about it now. The world seems to be against him today.

"Excellent. I'll send you a letter when the date is decided. Is there another Lord or Lady Peverell that I should include in the invitation?" Malfoy probes.

"I don’t know if my uncle will want to attend, but it wouldn’t hurt to include him and the newest addition to our family, my adopted son Tom. I would bring my other son, but he's in very poor health so he can’t attend it with us," Hadrian says tersely, mood souring as he wonders again how long it will take him to redo all of his painstaking work to make another leap through time.

"How dreadful. I'm so sorry to hear that Lord Peverell," Malfoy says somberly, sympathy filling his eyes, and the eyes of a few others in the room.

"That's actually why we’re settling down here," Hadrian sighs, weariness creeping in.

"I'm sure your spouse would have been very proud of what you've done today Lord Peverell. If there's anything, anything at all that we can do to help you or your son, please don't hesitate to let us know. The Wizarding world owes you greatly," Gafrond offers, eyes promising the Ministry’s assistance.

Hadrian swallows down an angry retort that no one could possibly help them, and instead offers a small falsely grateful smile, nodding.

Gafrond sighs, somehow sensing that he won’t be asking for help anytime soon, and then begins questioning him over everything that happened in London. Hadrian spends the next hour answering each of her questions as swiftly and accurately as he can, beyond relieved once they’re done. Well, almost.

“Melanie Nott with the Daily Prophet, pleased to meet you Lord Peverell,” the bookish brunette from earlier introduces herself, eagerly leading him into an adjoining room. Hadrian is beyond fed up with pretending that he actually gives a damn when people introduce themselves. It’s not like he’s going to stick to this time period forever.

“I think I speak for all of us here when I say that we can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done today,” Melanie declares directing a flashy smile at him.

“You are most welcome, but I’m sure if I hadn’t stepped in today someone else would have,” Hadrian demurs, offering his most charming smile while wishing that he could just leave and avoid this situation altogether. It’s been a long day and he still has so much to do.

Flushing, the reporter insists, "As the only man to ever go against the unbeatable Grindelwald and his men, then live to tell the tale -wandlessly no less, I assure you that _no_ other wizard I know of could have done what you did today.” Pulling out a camera, Miss Nott coyly asks, “Might I have the honor of taking your picture Lord Peverell? _Everyone_ will want to see just who saved us all. Especially when our hero has a face as lovely as _yours_.” Hadrian grits his teeth, but his smile remains the same as he nods and allows her to take the first of many photos, soon to be on thousands of papers.

He isn’t really surprised that miss Nott finds his looks appealing. His transition to being the Master of Death healed him and revealed him to be a very striking man when properly nourished. He’s not sure whether to curse or thank the Dursleys’, because the attention people gave him had doubled after he’d changed and that’s saying something.

Hadrian’s Avada Kedavra green eyes now stand out brightly against his glossy raven hair and milky pale skin. When combined with his long lashes, and full lips currently pulled up in a false but no less pleasing smile, he is stunning and he knows it. Handsome or beautiful would be apt descriptors, though he dislikes being called pretty. He's had more than a hundred years to grow comfortable and confident with his improved looks.

They’ve been useful on many occasions, and they’re about to prove useful once more.

“My apologies, but I really must go now,” Hadrian sighs softly, a small frown gracing his lips. “I have several appointments set up today, and then I really must get back to my family. My ailing eldest son gets lonely when I’m gone for too long.”

“Oh, yes of _course_!” Miss Nott coos, gazing at him with a fond look, “My notes from the meeting should be enough for a good article, you go take care of your sons. They are so _lucky_ to have a father like _you_.” Her words pierce him like daggers, but Hadrian keeps smiling until after they’ve said their goodbyes and she’s disappeared back into the room.

Face falling, Hadrian silently broods, _‘Oh how I wish that were true…’_ Shunting the pain away as he always does, Hadrian turns and makes his out of the Ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riddle me this, Riddle me that- here’s the altered fourth chapter, what did you think of that? ;)


End file.
